I Do, I Do, I Do!
by ForeverLulu
Summary: After six years of being best friends, Mary Ann and Gilligan finally get married and spend their first night together. Rated M for adult themes, but not too explicit. Focuses on feelings and humour. COMPLETE!
1. I Do, I Do, I Do!

_**Important A/U: **_

_This story is Rated M because it deals with Mary Ann and Gilligan getting married and what happens on their wedding night. There is already a lovely story on the board called The Wedding And Bedding of Willy Gilligan, by Branmuffinpower, which has a much shyer version of Gilligan than this story has. If you think you might be offended by the thought of Gilligan and Mary Ann engaging in marital relations then please don't read any further. If you do read on, understand that my intentions in writing this story were purely to entertain and hopefully amuse and _not_ for any shock factor. I have a history of writing M rated fiction in my other fandom and wanted to try it out with Gilligan's Island as they are all such wonderful characters._

_I don't think it would be out of the ordinary for Gilligan and Mary Ann to slowly fall in love as the years went by and to eventually get married. Mary Ann is a traditionalist and Gilligan would also want to do things properly._

_I shan't say anymore!_

_# # # #_

"I now pronounce you Husband and Wife."

Seven simple little words that marked the end, finally, of Mary Ann Summers' life as a single girl. She had finally done it. She had finally made Gilligan notice her- _properly_- after six long years of being stranded on this desert island. It hadn't been easy, and at times she had thought about giving up. But gradually, over time, she'd succeeded in reminding him of how he used to feel, in the days when they were first washed ashore, the Minnow wrecked and their hopes dashed, when they were still new to each other and every day was a voyage of discovery and his affection for her had been simple and honest and pure.

Mary Ann Summers was now Mary Ann Gilligan.

Not that the day had gone smoothly. It was Gilligan, after all. He hadn't changed a lot in all the years they'd been shipwrecked. He'd even 'lost' the ring several times in the days leading up to the wedding. Ginger had even mischievously suggested this act was deliberate, that it meant maybe he wasn't ready to get wed.

"Will he ever be ready to get wed?" Mary Ann had sighed. But when she remembered how he'd proposed on New Year's Eve, drunk on the Howell's champagne (and not for the first time), she had to tell herself yes. Willie Gilligan was as ready as he would ever be.

She thought back to that night. After the countdown and Auld Lang Syne and several champagne toasts, Gilligan had been in a childishly silly mood and was attempting to climb a tree- "so I can see the New Year better." As though it were over the horizon somewhere.

Mary Ann had pulled at his pants leg. "Get down from there, Gilligan! You'll fall and hurt yourself."

"I'm not gonna fall!" the first mate had shouted rather loudly. "I know what I'm..."

And of course, he'd fallen. Thankfully not very far, but the way he'd sprawled in the sand had made it look worse than it was.

"Gilligan! Are you hurt?" Mary Ann had dropped to her knees and bent over him, pushing his hat off his face and patting his cheek to get him to open his eyes and look at her.

When he finally did, he just peeped one eye open and grinned up at her. "Did I fall?"

"Of course you fell. I told you you would." Mary Ann stroked his thick dark hair.

"Because I always fall, right, Mary Ann?" he rubbed his head against her hand like a cat.

"Yes, Gilligan. You're forever falling."

He'd looked up at her then with such an endearing smile that Mary Ann's heart did a backflip. "I think I've fallen for you, Mary Ann," he said, then giggled. "Mary Ann, I think we should get married."

The next day, when he'd sobered up, Mary Ann had started teasing him about his drunken proposal whilst sprawled like a starfish at the bottom of the tree when he'd fixed her with a solemn gaze and said, "Oh, no, Mary Ann. I meant it. I think we should get married."

"You do?" She'd gasped, thrilled but nervous at the same time. After all, this was Gilligan. He was apt to change his mind at any time.

"Sure I do. You've been my best friend for six years. That's what a man and a woman who've been friends for a long time do, right? They get married." He'd shrugged, as though he'd reached a simple and logical conclusion.

Okay, so it hadn't been the most overly romantic gesture and he'd looked a little pained what with being hungover and all, but it was a genuine, honest sentiment and Mary Ann hadn't turned him down. In fact, she'd thrown her arms around his neck and kissed him (causing much embarrassment on his part), and then she'd been on Cloud Nine for days afterwards and had to keep pinching herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming.

The rest of the castaways had greeted the news with amazement, then sheer joy. Jonas Grumby had picked his little buddy up in a bear hug and whirled him around until the hat spun clean off his head. And Mrs. Howell, of course, had been delighted. At last, some proper gossip! The only thing she regretted was that she wasn't at the Country Club to tell all her friends and associates the good news. So instead she went around telling all the castaways several times over, asking them each time to pretend they hadn't heard yet. After their initial joy, the Skipper and the Professor grew bored of this game very quickly but Ginger was delighted to play along, pretending to be different snooty socialite ladies at each visit from Mrs. Howell. This game went on all afternoon, and from then on, Lovey Howell took to eyeing the happy couple up and down as though she were assessing their potential for breeding like she would a couple of prize racehorses.

_Mary Ann Gilligan_. She wondered if she'd ever get used to the name.

"You may now kiss the bride," the Skipper said, beaming from ear to ear, a definite twinkle in his bright blue eyes. No doubt _this_ bit was going to be good.

"Aw, do I...?" Gilligan protested. "In front of _everybody_?"

A ripple of laughter went around the rest of the gathered castaways, but this time, unlike the time he'd fake-married Mary Ann, Gilligan didn't attempt to escape from her clutches. He took her by the shoulders, lowered his head and gently pressed his lips to his new wife's, resulting in a wave of applause from their friends and a hearty cry of "Bravo!" from Mr. Howell.

"Thank you, Gilligan," Mary Ann whispered, her face tingling, although she wasn't sure why she felt she had to thank him for something he was supposed to do.

After the ceremony, Mary Ann and her new husband joined the rest of the castaways for a celebration which started at their camp site but gradually moved down to the beach and extended into the late afternoon and then into the early evening. As the others laughed and drank toast after toast, Mary Ann danced with Gilligan, her head resting on his shoulder and the flowers in her hair sending sweet fragrances up his nose which made him hold her closer.

In the days leading up to the wedding, the castaways had set to work building a Honeymoon Hut far away from all the other huts that would lend the newly weds some much needed privacy for their wedding night. Of course, The Wedding Night became the source of endless amusement for Jonas Grumby and resulted in several knowing winks and nudges directed at Gilligan as the bashful first mate surveyed the new hut and scratched his head at the thought of spending the whole night there with Mary Ann instead of reading comic books in his own hammock while the Skipper snored below.

Now, as it approached twilight, breathless and excited and scared all at once, Mary Ann pulled Gilligan by the hand along the meandering jungle paths until at last they stood before the beautiful little Honeymoon Hut which was to be their new home for the next few days.

There were torches glowing by the front door and garlands of flowers strewn from the eaves and a banner made from a torn sheet with writing scrawled from a piece of burnt wood.

It said-

**CONGRATULATIONS MR. AND MRS. GILLIGAN**

"Oh, Gilligan. It's perfect!" Mary Ann said quietly, gazing at the little hut in awe, her heart beating fast in her chest.

Gilligan had gotten married in a borrowed shirt from the Professor and a slightly too big suit jacket from Mr. Howell. But he was still in his faded jeans and sneakers and his ever present hat sat jauntily on the back of his head. He clutched Mary Ann's hand tightly and tugged at the collar of the unfamiliar shirt. Then he swallowed hard. He had never felt so unsure of himself in his life, and that was saying something.

"Well, Gilligan, I guess this is it," said Mary Ann. Seeing the frightened look on her new husband's face, she turned to him and smiled, touched by his wide blue eyes. "Don't be scared," she said softly, wanting desperately to reassure him. "Remember, this is all new to me, too."

She lifted her face, hoping he would kiss her without being prompted.

Gilligan hesitated. He was a married man now, and he knew something was expected of him. He tried to overcome his nerves. He put his arms gently around his new bride and for the second time that day, he pressed his lips against Mary Ann's and closed his eyes.

Mary Ann found the warmth of Gilligan's kiss and the shy way in which he delivered it, very arousing. She murmured softly against his mouth, snaking her tanned bare arms around his neck and instinctively pressing her body against his. She was wearing a dress of Ginger's that she had shortened and altered to fit so well that it left little to the imagination where her curves were concerned. She hoped Gilligan found her attractive. The only real indication that he liked the way she looked came at the beginning of the wedding ceremony when he had turned to see her being escorted down the 'aisle' (a strip of sand marked out by garlands of flowers) by Mr. Howell. Gilligan's eyes had widened and then flickered quickly up and down the length of her body, a look that sent an excited shiver down her spine, but also a look that she would have missed if she hadn't been watching him intently.

She wondered what was going through his mind now. Did he fully realise what the wedding night entailed?

Gilligan stopped kissing her and opened his eyes. "Mary Ann," he said, his voice sounding somewhat husky, "did I tell you how beautiful you looked?"

"Oh, Gilligan, thank you," she sighed. There she was again, thanking him! "And you look very handsome."

Unused to compliments, Gilligan pulled a face. "Come on, let's go inside," he said, changing the subject. He went to open the door, but turned when Mary Ann spoke up.

"The man is meant to carry his new bride over the threshold," she smiled coyly, fluttering her eyelashes.

"He is?" Gilligan looked her over. "Boy, Mary Ann, it's a good thing you're small."

Mary Ann shook her head and sighed. _No points for tact or romanticism- let's hope he fares better with carrying me over the threshold._

Gilligan came over and stood beside Mary Ann. He wrapped one arm around her torso, then as she draped her arm around his shoulders he bent and hooked his other arm around the back of her knees. He took a deep breath, repositioned his feet and hauled her up into the air. Mary Ann squealed in delight and wrapped both arms around his neck, straightening his hat for him before it fell off. For all his usual clumsiness, he had quite effortlessly swept her off her feet, and looked rather proud of himself for doing it.

Gilligan carried Mary Ann across the threshold of their new hut, and he didn't even bang her head against the door as they went through. Mary Ann thought this boded well for the start of their marriage. Once inside, he set her down gently, and the two of them stood there and surveyed their surroundings.

There were fragrant flowers everywhere. Mary Ann guessed that Mrs. Howell and Ginger had been responsible for those. There was a bottle of champagne cooling in a pail of spring water on top of a small chest of drawers made out of bamboo and palm leaves, along with a bowl of fresh fruit. There was a torch burning with a muted orange glow. There was a small cordoned off area to the right, but the main thing in the room, and the one thing that neither of them could tear their eyes away from, was the marital bed.

Someone had spent a lot of time constructing this masterpiece. It was twice, maybe even three times the size of a regular bed. Mary Ann was vaguely embarrassed at the thought of the Skipper and the Professor making the frame for a bed they knew was going to be used for _romantic purposes_. Not only that, they knew exactly who it was going to be used by. She went red at the thought of imagined conversations between the two men. The bed looked sturdy, in any case. Mary Ann wondered if they thought she and Gilligan were going to be jumping up and down on it or something. Although, that did sound like fun, and maybe it would break the ice a little.

She wondered what they'd made the mattress out of, and it seemed Gilligan had had the same thought. He went over to the bed and pulled the covers back. Two regular mattresses had been joined together down the middle. He pushed his hands down on them, testing them for comfort. "Do you think they came from the Howells' hut?" He wondered out loud. "They sure are soft."

"I don't know," Mary Ann replied. _And I don't care. As long as the whole thing holds up._ Blushing again, she looked around the room once more until she spotted her 'overnight bag' perched on a stool in the corner of the little cordoned off area.

"Ssh," said Gilligan suddenly, even though neither of them had been speaking. "Can you hear that? It's the waterfall."

Mary Ann tipped her dark head prettily to one side, her lips slightly parted as she listened for the gentle rush of water that was characteristic of the waterfall. "Oh, yes, I can hear it!" she said, clasping her hands together with glee. "Oh, Gilligan, how romantic!"

Gilligan found himself smiling at the sight of his new bride's obvious delight. It tickled something in his chest. "Is everything going to be romantic now that we're married?" he asked.

"Yes, Gilligan, everything's going to be romantic now that we're married. Don't you think so, too?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I think you'll have to teach me. You know, how to be romantic, and stuff."

Mary Ann approached him slowly, swaying her hips and hoping her walk looked sexy. He was certainly looking at her, in any case. "'_And stuff_'?" she teased. She was right in front of him now. She lifted her hand and lightly trailed one finger down the front of the Professor's shirt. "What would I know about '_stuff', _Gilligan_?_ I'm as new to this as you are." She batted her long, dark eyelashes at him, slipped Mr. Howell's baggy suit jacket off his slim shoulders and let the expensive tailored garment fall discarded to the floor.

Gilligan swallowed hard and stared at Mary Ann. He had never seen her quite like this. The dress she was wearing clung to her curves and yet gave nothing away. Shy though he was, he knew that being married meant that now he was allowed to look. He swept his gaze over her bare shoulders as the suit jacket slipped down his arms. Her skin looked softer than ever, her tan glowed in the orange torch light. It reminded him of caramel. What was this urge he was feeling? Should he act on it?

Without giving it another thought, Gilligan bent his head and kissed Mary Ann's neck.

Mary Ann gasped. The touch of his lips at her throat caused an intense bolt of electricity that sent a shockwave rippling right down to her toes which curled up tight in the tips of her shoes. Her head fell back and she moaned softly, gripping his shoulders with both hands. "Oh, Gilligan..." she whispered.

Something in her tone made him want to kiss her more. Although he had never done any of this before, he somehow knew that she'd probably like it if he took her earlobe between his lips and nibbled on it as if it were a sweet little nut. So that's what he did.

Mary Ann held her breath and shivered with delight in his arms. Oh, this was _wonderful_! Oh, this was so worth waiting six years for!

He raised his head and looked at her. Her big liquid eyes were looking right back at him. He felt a strange stirring in the pit of his stomach. His legs actually began to feel a little unsteady.

Mary Ann really didn't want to wait any longer. That look on his face was doing things to her that made her giddy with longing. "Gilligan," she murmured, toying with one of the buttons of the Professor's shirt. "why don't you open the champagne while I slip into something more comfortable?"

"Okay," Gilligan uttered in reply. He dropped his arms to his sides, releasing Mary Ann from his careful embrace. He looked as though he was having a hard time concentrating on anything. He watched her silently as she crossed the room to the small hidden area.

Mary Ann hoped he was admiring her rear.

Gilligan shook his head briefly to clear his thoughts. He looked around and located the champagne bottle sticking out of the bucket of cool spring water which stood on the chest of drawers against the wall. He pulled the bottle out and shook the water off it. As he began twisting off the wiry metal top, he turned and looked back at the partition that Mary Ann was 'slipping into something more comfortable' behind. He was rewarded with the sight of her dress flying over the top of it. He gulped, his fingers fumbling, and nearly dropped the entire bottle.

He carried on staring at the partition. Mary Ann was shuffling around behind it and he wondered if she was naked. Then he realised that now they were married, there was every chance he was going to get to see Mary Ann naked. Then he realised that if he was going to get to see her naked, then it was only fair that she would probably want to see him naked too.

_Naked, naked, naked_. He couldn't stop thinking of that word. _Mary Ann. Naked_. He nearly dropped the bottle again. He scrabbled at the little wire top and pulled it off. Then he began twisting the cork, huffing and puffing, his eyes never leaving the partition.

When Mary Ann stuck just one smooth, bare leg out from behind the partition and began stroking the edge up and down with the sole of her foot while calling his name like a siren of the deep, the cork flew out of the bottle with an almighty pop and bounced off the ceiling, landing on the floor at Mary Ann's feet.

"Why, Gilligan," she purred seductively, as though she'd been taking lessons from Ginger, or even remembering what it was like when she thought she _was _Ginger. "Save some of that for me!"

Nervously, Gilligan poured out two coconut-shell cups of frothy, bubbly champagne. Before Mary Ann appeared in her entirety he downed one of the cups for Dutch courage and then poured another quickly, blinking and wiping tears from his eyes as the bubbles began bursting in his brain, immediately making him giddy and giving him a sudden urge to laugh hysterically.

_I'm married! Me- Willie Gilligan! I'm married! Mom, Dad, I'm married! I'm married, and to the most beautiful, wonderful woman I ever met in my entire life!_

He was in the process of lifting the second cup to his lips when Mary Ann appeared, wearing the tiniest, floatiest, sheerest little scrap of fabric he had ever seen. He vaguely recalled the phrase '_babydoll nightie'- _from where, he had no idea. Why, there was barely enough material to cover her, and even then, she was hardly what you'd call covered. Why he could see just about...just about...

His eyes travelled slowly from her face to her neck to her chest. _Oh my Gosh, I can see her..._

Gilligan's mind went blank and he lost all concentration. The champagne went down the wrong way and he spluttered and coughed. The rest of it spilled down the front of the Professor's shirt. Gilligan wiped frantically at the spill but only succeeded in spreading it further. The inside of his nose tingled with bubbles and his eyes streamed with tears. Even so, he couldn't tear his eyes away from Mary Ann's barely concealed form. "Ma..." he spluttered. "Ma...Mary A...Ma..."

"What's the matter, Gilligan? Don't you like what you see?" Mary Ann smiled, gazing at him as seductively as she could, having perfected the pose a million times in front of the mirror while Ginger looked on in appreciation.

Gilligan nodded as though his head were on a spring. He held his hand out and offered Mary Ann a cup of champagne. "Champa...champa..." he gabbled, transfixed by the sight of her thinly veiled breasts.

"Gilligan! It's rude to stare," she chided him gently, accepting the cup of champagne.

"Sorry," he mumbled, tearing his eyes away at last.

Mary Ann sighed and laughed. "Oh, _Gilligan_," she pouted, stepping closer to him as he tried hard to keep his eyes averted. "I'm only teasing. Of course you can look. We're married, remember?"

She lifted her cup in a toast. "To us," she said. "To a long and happy marriage."

"Um..." said Gilligan, raising his cup the same way. "To us!"

As he went to down the champagne in one, Mary Ann put her hand on his arm. "Not so fast! This is a special toast, Gilligan," she said, linking her arm through his. "Now, drink it like this." She pulled her cup towards her lips thinking he would do the same, but instead his arm moved with hers and he tipped his champagne all down her front.

"Gilligan!" she cried as the fizzy liquid soaked into the flimsy fabric that barely covered her breasts.

"Sorry!" he apologised, and began frantically brushing at her front before he realised with a sudden jolt that he was actually touching her breasts. He gasped out loud. His arm flew back and knocked into hers and both cups of champagne went spilling and clattering to the floor.

"Oh, Gilligan." Mary Ann sighed. _So much for trying to be seductive_.

Gilligan was now tugging desperately at the collar of the Professor's shirt. He looked lost and awkward in the unfamiliar item of clothing. Mary Ann went over and put her arms around him. They were both covered in champagne now, so what did it matter?

"I love you, Gilligan," she murmured, kissing him gently on the cheek. "You don't have to be embarrassed in front of me. I'm your wife now. I love you. You can look, you can touch, you can do anything you want. I'm here for you. _I love you._"

When his arms went around her at last, she felt him cling to her as though she were a life preserver. "I love you too, Mary Ann," he said, his voice cracking a little in the middle. "I just didn't want to do anything wrong and I've already messed up twice and we haven't even _done_ anything yet!"

"Shh," she soothed. "It's all right. I don't know what I'm doing either. I guess all we can do is...well, just _start_, and see what happens."

"You look so beautiful, Mary Ann," he sighed. "I never saw any woman as beautiful as you. Not even Ginger."

The fact that she and Ginger were the only two young and eligible females on the island didn't matter- Mary Ann's heart melted at his words. "You don't have to be embarrassed any more," she repeated gently. "We've got tonight and tomorrow night and every night for the rest of our lives to figure out how to get it right."

Gilligan looked happier now. He pulled away from the embrace and looked down at his champagne soaked front. "Guess I better take these off, huh," he mused.

"Here, let me," his new wife smiled. As she began unbuttoning the Professor's shirt she saw that underneath it Gilligan was wearing his old grey T-shirt. She laughed when she saw it.

"I just felt more comfortable with my own clothes on," Gilligan explained as she ran her hands up and underneath it onto his bare stomach, making him squirm. "Ugh...Mary Ann, that tickles!"

"Mmm, and we all know how ticklish you are," she grinned, tickling him even more, pulling his shirt out of his jeans and exposing his torso, enjoying the sight of his stomach muscles clenching defensively.

"Mary Ann! _Stoo-oopp_!" Gilligan cried out like a little boy while his new wife tugged and pulled at his clothing, dislodging his hat in the process. They tussled all over the room, laughing, until Mary Ann had managed to remove both shirts plus his hat and he finally stood bare chested and panting with exertion in the middle of the room, his arms held out to ward off any more tickling. "No more, Mary Ann. _Please_!"

Mary Ann, equally breathless and with her wet breasts heaving, gazed at Gilligan hungrily. Maybe he was a little on the skinny side but he was in good shape, not an ounce of surplus fat anywhere. He had nice arms too, and a good, lean set of muscles in his shoulders. His belly was flat, and his waist was narrow. _He was a good armful_.

She glanced further down, feeling bold and unabashed. His jeans clung to his slender hips, and, oh my Lord...there was _definitely_ something there in front that hadn't been there earlier. She blinked, and the blood rushed to her head and made her feel giddy.

Gilligan saw her looking. He felt her eyes burning into him. He felt odd, disjointed. There was a strange fire in the pit of his stomach, and one even further down, which got worse when he saw how her babydoll negligee stuck damply to her breasts and how her nipples had gone hard.

_Her nipples._

_Naked._

_Her hard, naked nipples._

Gilligan's head began to swim. What was going on? He stared at Mary Ann helplessly. He stared at her breasts. He stared at her bare, tanned legs and then he stared at the hem of the negligee which was like a soft feather boa just skimming the tops of her smooth, caramel coloured thighs. The fire in his groin began burning out of control. He had never experienced anything like it. Without thinking, acting purely on an animal impulse he had no desire to quash or control, Gilligan crossed the room in two strides and kissed Mary Ann hard, catching them both by surprise.

After a second or two in which Mary Ann was stunned into immobility by the normally shy Gilligan's wanton display of ardour, she threw her arms around him and returned the kiss with equal passion, devouring her husband's mouth like a lioness. Her hands raced over his bare back, kneading and rubbing and caressing the undulating muscles beneath his skin. She pushed him awkwardly back towards the bed and soon Gilligan lay flat out across the mattresses with Mary Ann astride him, his head gripped in both of her hands, his thick hair entangled in her fingers, their mouths locked firmly together, wet tongues sliding in and out.

Gilligan's hands flailed wildly either side of Mary Ann. The fires raged all through him but he was still scared to touch her in case he got it wrong. He finally put his hands on her shoulders, but she wriggled and made him move them further down.

"Touch me, Gilligan," she whispered against his mouth. "I want you to. _Please_!"

The flimsy fabric of the negligee bunched beneath his fingers. He went giddy at the feel of her warm skin underneath. His fingers flexed, pulling the fabric further and further up her hips until the feather boa hem was up around her waist and his searching fingertips finally touched skin- hot, silky skin. His hands trembled, but that one touch of skin was enough. His palms flattened against her hips and slid their way over her flanks and onto her buttocks where he encountered more and more and more bare, soft, smooth silky skin.

_Oh my Gosh_...he thought wildly through the haze. _She isn't wearing anything underneath..._

Mary Ann abruptly rolled off him, feeling suddenly exposed. She hoped no-one was peering through any windows. It might have turned dark outside, but the orange glow of the torch would surely let anyone who was watching see everything. Not that any one of their friends would do anything so dastardly, but still. _The hills have eyes_. "Oh, Gilligan, please close the windows," she said, pushing herself up against the pillows and pulling the covers over her legs.

Gilligan staggered to his feet, feeling dazed and disoriented. Without a word he stumbled over to each window and banged it shut. Then he checked the door was secured and locked, and returned to join his new wife on the bed. "Is that better, Mary Ann?" he asked, peering at her face with concern.

Mary Ann nodded. She reached up and stroked the hair away from his eyes. It was getting long in front. She'd have to give it a trim before he turned into one of those shaggy dogs that could never see where they were going. "I'm nervous," she admitted, moving her hand down his face and cupping his cheek, stroking her thumb over his lips. "I mean, I kind of know what we're supposed to do, but..." she looked deep into his eyes. He wasn't always easy to read, but right now he looked just as nervous as she felt, despite the way they'd just been kissing.

"You said we should just start, and see what happens," Gilligan told her. "All I know is, I got these really weird feelings I never had before, right down around here." He put his hand on his belly, leaving the rest unsaid.

Mary Ann looked at his hand. He had nice hands and long fingers. She covered his hand with her own and leaned forward to kiss him. "Oh, Gilligan. I know whatever happens, you'll be gentle with me," she murmured.

"You know I'd never do anything to hurt you, Mary Ann," he assured her.

Mary Ann leaned back until she was lying down and Gilligan was on top of her. She wriggled until she was comfortable. Gilligan carried on kissing her, deciding that this was definitely one new activity he could get to really enjoy. Kissing someone when you loved them was okay. You were allowed to do it. And what's more- when you were allowed to do it, it felt _good._

The soft sounds Mary Ann was making told him that she was enjoying it too. That made him feel even better. Maybe this was going to turn out to be the one thing he was good at. Maybe finally he'd have something he could be proud of. He slipped his hand under her negligee. Maybe it was time she took this thing off- it smelled of spilled champagne and he didn't want to smell spilled champagne. He wanted to smell Mary Ann.

Mary Ann helped him pull the damp piece of material up her body and over her head, and Gilligan balled it up and threw it on the floor. Mary Ann was completely naked now. Gilligan blinked rapidly as he stared at the vision of beauty lying next to him on the bed with her big soulful eyes beckoning him._ I'll bet any man would love to be where I am now, _was the thought that immediately entered his head. _Just look at her- she's beautiful!_

"Am I all right?" Mary Ann asked, looking down the length of her own body, wishing he would stop staring at her with his hair in his eyes and his mouth hanging open and just say _something_.

Gilligan had no other memories of naked women to compare her to, but even he could tell that Mary Ann had a stunning figure, and that other men would definitely think she was sexy and desirable. "You're..." he wanted to say 'sexy', but somehow the word sat awkwardly in his mouth. "You're beautiful, Mary Ann. You're beautiful and lovely, and...and..."

"Do you want me, Gilligan?" she asked, hopefully.

Gilligan went a deep red colour all the way up his neck to the tips of his ears. "Um...I guess," he stammered, not altogether sure what she meant.

Mary Ann's eyes flickered below his waistband. "I'd say you do," she smiled bashfully.

Gilligan looked down at himself. "Oh! Um...oh, gosh...yeah...I guess," he repeated, looking dumbstruck.

Mary Ann wrapped both arms around her husband and rubbed her naked breasts against his chest while she kissed him deeply. He mumbled against her lips, then his hands went gently to her breasts and touched them properly for the very first time ever. He sighed with longing as his fingers found her nipples, playing with the tips, flicking them back and forth like they were little switches.

Mary Ann gasped at the sensations he caused by doing that. Just like little switches, he flicked them on and off, sending sharp little tingles coursing through her like electricity. Her whole body shivered and squirmed, desire building up inside her until she though she might literally burst into flames.

She fumbled at Gilligan's jeans button, unhooking it with the fingers of her right hand while her left hand ran through his hair. She fell back onto the bed, taking him with her, almost breaking her fingernails on his zipper in her hurry to get his pants off. "Gilligan," she muttered, "help me out here!"

Gilligan pushed impatiently at his pants, struggling to kick them off down his legs. He had become obsessed with Mary Ann's breasts and was reluctant to do anything that took his attention away from them. But once his pants were off, Mary Ann's loud gasp brought his head round to see what she was staring at.

"Oh, my Gosh!" he exclaimed when he looked down.

"What do _you_ mean, 'oh my Gosh'?" Mary Ann cried. "I should be the one saying oh my Gosh!" _Where has he been hiding _that _for the last six years? _she thought, wildly.

Gilligan was embarrassed by the sight of himself standing so firmly and proudly to attention. He had never seen himself quite that...well, quite that..._big _before_. _No wonder he'd felt faint! He looked at Mary Ann with anguish written all over his face. "What do I do now?" he asked plaintively.

Mary Ann giggled suddenly, her hand over her mouth. Poor Gilligan was so clearly out of his depth, but his body had no doubts about what it wanted. She felt enormously flattered to have produced _that _sort of reaction from him. She stretched her arms out and gathered him into them. "You'll know what to do, Gilligan," she smiled. At the same time, she hoped that she'd know what to do, too.

Gilligan lay down on top of Mary Ann with her legs on either side of his waist. He had never seen the intimate areas of a woman before. Not in real life and not even in books. He was almost afraid to look.

Girls and boys sure were _different_.

He decided to kiss her instead. He wanted her to think there was at least one thing he was getting good at. He was sure he was going to do something to ruin their night before the sun came up, but he wanted it to at least get off to a good start.

While he kissed her, his hand began moving of its own accord. Soon he realised he was aiming for the hidden mysteries between her legs. He didn't know why or what made him do it. He just knew he wanted to touch her there.

Mary Ann felt Gilligan's hand begin its tentative journey southwards. She tensed nervously as his fingers brushed her hip bone and reached the top of her thigh. She held still, not wanting to put him off. If he got the slightest hint that she wasn't enjoying it, he'd stop and then never do it again, or at least not until she'd spent the whole night consoling and reassuring him that he hadn't done anything to hurt her.

Gilligan brushed his fingertips over her inner thigh. He heard her soft sigh and took that as an indication that she liked what he was doing. He couldn't believe how brave he was being- how forward, how...how _manly_. He, Willie Gilligan, was married to Mary Ann Summers, and now he was going to touch her between the legs.

Mary Ann gasped loudly. She hadn't expected a sensation like that. It was almost as if he'd touched her by accident- just a light graze with his fingertips, but oh, my- the _pleasure _it gave her! "Oh, Gilligan," she whispered. This was going to be one long night of '_Oh, Gilligan's_' if he kept this up.

"Is that okay, Mary Ann?" Gilligan asked hopefully. "Do you like that or should I stop?"

"Oh no, Gilligan, don't stop," Mary Ann's head rocked back and forth against the pillows. "Please don't stop!"

Gilligan carried on, his face a picture of concentration. The feeling of touching her there was very odd. It was nice, very nice, but it was unlike anything he'd ever touched before. She was warm and soft and fuzzy and there were so many different bits of her. His fingertips moved easily through each and every little secret place. It was almost like delving his fingers into a fresh slice of coconut cream pie. With each touch Mary Ann moaned and whimpered and rocked her head against the pillows, smiling and saying _yes, Gilligan, yes, Gilligan._

"Mary Ann, are you sure this isn't hurting you?" Gilligan asked, awestruck.

"Oh, no, Gilligan, you're not hurting me at all! This feels so wonderful!" Mary Ann breathed, arching her hips towards his hand. "So wonderful!"

Gilligan was beginning to understand what he was meant to do next. He swallowed nervously. This could all go wrong, so wrong. He hoped it wouldn't. If he kept going slowly, then maybe it would all be okay. He couldn't do anything to hurt her if he didn't rush. Besides, she had told him they had all night. _Tonight, tomorrow night and every night for the rest of our lives. _There was no-one who was going to to whack him with a hat or yell at him if he messed up. It was just her and him. Mary Ann and Gilligan. He would watch her closely to see what he should do.

Mary Ann was whimpering gently. "Please, Gilligan," she whispered.

_Please_?_ Please what_? He didn't know what she meant. He felt embarrassed to ask. After a couple of moments, Mary Ann's hand crept onto his thigh and squeezed the top of it, sending a sharp signal to his befuddled brain that said _you know what you have to do_!

Gilligan removed his hand from between Mary Ann's legs. He felt a panic coming on but squashed it down with the power of his thoughts. _Don't chicken out. Don't chicken out_! _What are you, a man or a mouse_? He sure felt like squeaking and running away. "I'm scared," he blurted.

"Me too," Mary Ann confessed, her eyes wide with apprehension. "But I love you, Gilligan. I love you."

Gilligan climbed tentatively between her legs. _We're married. This is okay. We're married. This is okay. T__his is what you do when you're a real grown up and you're married._

He leaned over her face and peered down into her eyes. "What if it hurts, Mary Ann?" he asked, desperate for her reassurance. "Will you tell me?"

"Of course I will, but it won't hurt, not with you, Gilligan."

"Okay," he said, his voice cracking. He looked down at himself, wondering how she knew it wasn't going to hurt. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He pushed, very slowly and very gently.

Mary Ann drew a sharp intake of breath and held it. Gilligan was being gentle. Gilligan could never be anything but gentle. She began to relax. She breathed out. He pushed further. Mary Ann had never felt anything like this before, but she didn't want to scare him off. It wasn't really hurting, and she found it helped if she raised her hips.

Gilligan was going giddy with the sensations that his actions were producing. He couldn't believe how wonderful this felt. Mindful of Mary Ann's possible discomfort, he took his time, listening for the sounds she made, hoping he'd be able to tell immediately, without her having to tell him, if she wanted him to stop.

Before either of them knew it, Gilligan found that he was completely inside of her. Mary Ann breathed hard and heavy, squirming beneath him. "Oh, Gilligan! That didn't hurt at all!" she uttered, her face a picture of delight.

Gilligan was overjoyed. Mary Ann looked ecstatically happy. He wasn't getting it wrong! Things could not be going any better! "What happens now?" he asked, feeling an uncontrollable grin of relief stretch itself across his face.

Mary Ann grinned back, gave a little nervous shrug. "I don't know, Gilligan, I guess you..." she broke off and giggled. "Gilligan, I've never done this before either! I guess we just...oh, you _must_ know!"

"Well, I've heard some Navy stories that..." Gilligan began, then shook his head as Mary Ann shook hers. "No Navy stories."

"Absolutely no Navy stories, Gilligan. Just follow your instincts. I'm sure you must have an idea!"

Carefully, Gilligan began to follow his instincts. Mary Ann murmured her approval, grinning up at him with her eyes all heavy and glazed over. When he repeated the movement, Mary Ann's mouth opened in a wordless moan and Gilligan covered it with his own, kissing her deeply until her moans became rhythmic and guttural, as if they were lodged in her throat somewhere. Could anything in the world feel better than this?_ I'm making love to Mary Ann, _he realised._ I'm married to Mary Ann Summers and now I'm making love to her!_

Soon Gilligan couldn't stop the strangulated sounds from coming out of his own mouth as he moved steadily on top of her, gliding in and out, listening to her soft cries and loud whimpers, his waist trapped in the vice like grip of her thighs. "Mary Ann," he gasped. "Mary Ann...Mary Ann..."

"Gilligan," she answered back. "Oh, Gilligan, don't stop..._don't stop_!"

"I can't...can't stop," Gilligan groaned, desperately.

Mary Ann gripped him hard with both arms and both legs. Something wonderful was happening. Something big and wonderful was building up inside her, just waiting to be released. Gilligan looked lost to the world, his dark shaggy hair damp with sweat, his eyes squeezed tight shut, his face a picture of intense concentration.

"Oh Gilligan, yes, yes, _yes_!" cried Mary Ann loudly.

"Mary Ann!" Gilligan cried, his voice cracked and hoarse.

In the next moment Mary Ann felt the dam break and a wave of ecstasy flood over her. Her back arched clean up off the bed. Her breath whooshed out of her in a series of rasping moans as the climactic sensations threatened to sweep her clean away. Moments later Gilligan let out a strangled cry as the wave caught up with him too. They rode it like two slightly untrained surfers until at last it left them, battered and bruised, weakened and trembling, collapsed in the familiar safety of each other's arms.

Mary Ann stroked Gilligan's damp, sweaty back as he calmed down. He was breathing hard and heavy. The whole bed had been creaking and shaking for the last half hour and now it provided them with a safe haven from the outside world while they recovered.

"Gilligan," she said softly, brushing her lips through his hair. "Oh, Gilligan, that was incredible!"

"Oh, Mary Ann, I never felt anything like it," her husband proclaimed, his face buried in her neck.

"Wasn't it beautiful? Oh, Gilligan- I love you so much!"

Gilligan rolled off Mary Ann and lay flat on his back, grinning up at the ceiling. His face and neck were pink with exertion. His chest rose and fell as he refilled his lungs with air. Mary Ann sneaked a look south- he was no longer standing to attention but he was still pretty impressive. Where _had_ he been hiding himself for the last six years? Oh, but wouldn't Ginger just die if she knew, and as for Mrs. Howell!

"Wow, Mary Ann, I never thought anything could feel that good," Gilligan said happily. "And that was only just the first time!"

Mary Ann laughed at the first mate's unbridled enthusiasm. "Well, it sounds like you've found a hobby that you enjoy!"

"Oh, Mary Ann, am I glad I married you. We're gonna have the best marriage _ever_!"


	2. The Honeymooners

That night, they did it five times. Or, they did it once and it lasted the whole night with just a few breaks in between to get their breath back. Either way you looked at it, Mary Ann and Gilligan's wedding night turned out to be better than even they had expected. Even if they hadn't actually known what to expect.

When the first birds began waking up at the crack of dawn, Mary Ann was lying in Gilligan's arms, tracing her finger through the one little patch of hair that nestled in the middle of his chest. There was a new, very un-Gilliganlike smell about him. It was acrid and masculine- the smell of sex and exertion. She breathed deeply, filling her senses with this brand new odour, sending its signals to her brain so that it would recognise it as Gilligan's and bond him to her. She wondered what she smelled like to him.

Gilligan shifted as the birdsong gradually increased in volume. He was sleeping lightly, on the verge of waking up. Mary Ann wondered if he had had one of his colourful dreams, but then decided he hadn't really been asleep long enough. They had been far too busy doing other things. He mumbled something, it sounded like "Skipper." Surely he didn't think he was back in the hut he shared with Jonas Grumby. If he did, he was going to have a shock when he woke up! This thought made Mary Ann giggle, and she turned her face into his neck and kissed him gently at the spot where his carotid artery pulsed with its own gentle rhythm.

Gilligan's eyes prised themselves open. A sliver of blue-green appeared although the whites looked slightly bloodshot. "Wha..." he mumbled.

"Good morning, sweet husband," Mary Ann murmured, her lips moving against his hot skin.

"Mmmm," was the almost unintelligible response.

Mary Ann licked his earlobe. He squirmed. She laughed softly and pulled his earlobe into her mouth. He squirmed again, his arms winding around her.

"Mary Ann," he giggled, trying to sound reluctant.

"Oh, so you do know who I am," Mary Ann smiled. "I thought you were calling me Skipper!"

"Skipper?" Gilligan frowned. "I know I'm not the smartest guy in the world but I don't think I could ever get you mixed up with Skipper."

"I'm glad to hear it." Mary Ann rolled on top of him, gazed down into his half open eyes. "You look so cute," she said. "I think marriage suits you."

Gilligan smiled back, looking a lot more grown up than he'd ever done before. "It is kind of neat," he admitted.

"_Neat_," Mary Ann repeated, rubbing their noses together.

"Yeah," Gilligan said, picking up on her gentle teasing. "Neat."

Mary Ann was about to kiss him on the lips when a loud rumbling sound startled them both and made them laugh at the same time. "What was that?" she giggled.

"My stomach," her new husband admitted. "I'm hungry."

Mary Ann kissed him. "Anything I can do to distract you?" she asked.

Gilligan actually gave this some thought. Within moments his stomach had growled again. "Not really," he said mournfully.

Mary Ann kissed him once more, then rolled off him and sat on the edge of the bed, stroking his hair. "I suppose you must be hungry after last night," she told him. "I don't know where you get the energy from!"

Gilligan went bright red. "Mary Ann," he said, pretending to be shocked.

Mary Ann laughed and stood up. Immediately her back and legs stiffened up from all the unfamiliar positions she'd found herself in during the night. As she hobbled across the room to fetch the fruit bowl, she thought to herself that if there was one thing you could say about Gilligan, he sure was enthusiastic about the things he liked.

"Besides," he called after her, "you weren't exactly a slouch either!"

Mary Ann stopped and did a double take. Was this Gilligan sassing her? He had rolled over onto his side and was watching her with a very cheeky grin. The sheet was bunched around his waist, the pillow hugged under his head. She grabbed the fruit bowl, eager to get back into bed with him and pick up where they'd left off.

Tranquil early morning light seeped around the edges of the shut windows as Mary Ann climbed in next to Gilligan and put the fruit bowl on her lap. She held up a fat yellow banana. "Look, Gilligan. This reminds me of you," she giggled.

Gilligan snuggled up to his wife, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Why does a banana remind you of me?" he asked, innocently. "It's yellow, I'm not yellow."

"But you are sweet," Mary Ann smiled. "You're very sweet. I'm not half as sweet as you."

"You're twice as sweet as me," Gilligan recited, beginning to get frisky. He was further down in the bed than she was, and he nibbled on her ribcage, licking her skin in slow circles with his tongue, holding her tighter when she yelped and tried to wriggle away. He knew it tickled. That's why he was doing it. "Mary Ann's ticklish, Mary Ann's ticklish," he sang in a voice he knew would annoy her.

"Gilligan, eat your banana!" she said, waving the peeled fruit in front of his face.

Gilligan leaned up and bit the banana almost in half he was so hungry. He chewed noisily, reaching for the rest of the banana that Mary Ann was holding just out of reach.

"Behave, or you won't get any more," she chided him.

Gilligan pushed his head into her ribs. "You're mean, Mary Ann. M-E-N-E, mean."

"And you're a very naughty boy, Willie Gilligan," Mary Ann protested, finding herself almost pushed off the bed. "Stop it and eat your breakfast!"

Gilligan pulled himself into a sitting position and pasted a contrite look onto his face. Looking contrite was something else he was very good at. He stuck his lower lip out just a little bit and looked at her with big, soulful eyes.

Mary Ann decided that over the years, Gilligan had become more aware of the reactions he produced when he pulled this look and had learned to modify it to make sure he still got the same amount of sympathy that he did when he was a few years younger. Mary Ann also decided that this small manipulative thing that he did, coupled with his newly blossoming sexual awareness, would mean that pretty soon, if he wasn't watched closely, he would easily start to gain the upper hand.

"There's no use looking sorry for yourself," she told him, mock-sternly. "Eat." She pressed the remainder of the banana against his lips.

Gilligan ate in silence, never taking his eyes off her. The more he looked at her, the more her skin tingled. It felt like he was trying to hypnotise her. All she needed was some flute music and she'd begin swaying like a cobra. Without taking her eyes off him, she plucked a small sprig of grapes out of the bowl and began eating them without even looking at them. Suddenly she started giggling.

"Stop it, Gilligan. Stop staring at me."

"I can't help it, Mary Ann. I like staring at you." There was a fidgety air about him now. He was like a cat waiting to pounce.

Mary Ann reached for more fruit, but Gilligan put his hand over hers. His touch was electric. He moved the fruit bowl away and pulled her into his arms. "Mary Ann," he whispered.

Mary Ann sighed as Gilligan's mouth closed over hers. He began to kiss her long and deeply, his tongue easing past her lips, tasting of banana. Her arms folded around him and they fell back onto the pillows, hungry not for food, but for each other.

Gilligan moved on top of her and eased her legs apart. Without a word, without even breaking the kiss, he took hold of himself and guided his way into her, not even having to look at what he was doing now. Mary Ann moaned with pleasure, welcoming him inside, wrapping her legs around his waist. He made love to her gently, holding her tight, responding to all her sighs and moans, thrusting deeper when she asked him to, and harder when she began begging for it. Along with their increasingly intense lovemaking, the bed groaned and creaked and shook, but held fast.

After a whole night of passion, they climaxed almost together, the tidal wave of ecstasy buffeting them like a familiar friend, their excitement reaching a fiery crescendo before coming off the boil and gently simmering to a calm finish. Mary Ann lay trembling beneath her husband, feeling their hearts pounding together. His mouth was against her neck, his breath gusting past her ear. After a few quiet moments of resting in each others' arms this way, another loud growl from Gilligan's stomach made them both laugh again.

"I guess I'm still hungry, Mary Ann," he sighed.

# # # #

Gilligan's rumbling stomach meant that eventually they had to get up. While Mary Ann searched through her bag for clean clothes, Gilligan wrapped a sheet around himself and went outside to see what facilities the Skipper and Professor had provided for washing. When he opened the hut door the sunlight came streaming in and made him duck his head with its intensity.

"Oh, Gilligan!" Mary Ann cried with delight. "Our first full day as a married couple and it's beautiful!" She ran over, still naked, and enveloped his sheeted form in a hug.

"Mary Ann, it's always like this," Gilligan smiled, humouring his beaming wife. He kissed the end of her nose and eased himself out through the gap in the door. Clutching the sheet and holding it so it didn't drag on the ground, he went around the nearest side of the hut and immediately came upon a covered water trough with plenty of water in it. There was also a small pile of firewood in case they wanted to build a fire. "Hey Mary Ann, there's plenty of water," he called, lifting the wooden cover up and scooping a handful of water into his mouth. "It's fresh, too." He looked up, made sure there were no perching places for birds right over the trough, but the Skipper and Professor had already thought of that.

He carried on around the back of the hut to where his shipmates had constructed a basic outhouse. He paid a visit, leaving the sheet on a thoughtfully provided hook outside. Coming back out to wash his hands, he noticed that the Professor had actually thought to build them a rudimentary shower up against the back wall of the hut. It would mean Gilligan filling a bucket every time they wanted to use it, but that was no problem. Gilligan grinned to himself. This was like having your own proper little house! Maybe he and Mary Ann would be able to live out here forever, with Herman the turtle and Gretchen the duck, too!

"Mary Ann! Mary Ann, there's a shower and bathroom and everything!" he cried, rushing back into the hut. "It's like a real house!"

Mary Ann laughed as he scooped her into his arms with the sheet still wrapped around him and swung her in circles, chanting "a real house! A real house!"

They dared each other to go outside stark naked. They stood huddled by the door, giggling and egging each other on. Gilligan started pushing Mary Ann, saying _ladies first, Mary Ann, ladies first_. Mary Ann pushed back, saying _age before beauty, Gilligan, age before beauty._ Then Gilligan gave her an extra hard shove, and she squealed and grabbed his arms, pulling him with her. Soon they had managed to wrestle each other outside, and stood hugging themselves and blushing madly at each other, looking around for any peeping Toms.

They tiptoed tentatively around to the water trough, laughing and shush-ing each other. It was different being naked in daylight- it felt like being one of the jungle animals. Gilligan pulled the lid off the water trough and splashed Mary Ann with handfuls of water, laughing when she shouted at him. She splashed him back, soaking his head. They play fought, with Gilligan getting wildly overexcited. Soon they had forgotten they were naked and were chasing each other all around the hut, like Adam and Eve in their own little garden of Eden.

Gilligan filled the bucket and they showered together. They had a bar of soap which the Professor had made in his little laboratory. It did the job, got the skin clean, even though it smelled a little bland and wasn't the best for lathering. It didn't matter to Mary Ann though, even with the water being cold, not when Gilligan was using it to clean her, meticulously rubbing his soapy hands all over her body and nuzzling his wet head into her neck.

After they'd fooled around enough in the shower and the water in the bucket had run out, they went back to the hut and got dressed. Mary Ann put her short shorts on and paired them with a tiny patterned vest top. Gilligan pulled on his faded denims and grey T-Shirt that still fit him after all these years.

"I bet you can't wait to get back into your own clothes," Mary Ann grinned, handing him his little white cap, which he took gratefully from her and put on his head, flipping up the rim at the back so it wouldn't catch on his neck. Now he looks like Gilligan, she thought, her heart brimming over with love.

"I sure can't," he replied. "It was nice of the Professor and Mr. Howell to lend me their clothes to get married in, but these clothes just aren't me." Gilligan picked up the button down shirt and Country Club blazer from a nearby chair. "I can't wait to get my red shirt back."

# # # #

They walked hand in hand down the jungle path in the direction of camp, with Mary Ann wondering aloud how the other castaways would be coping in their absence.

"I wonder if Ginger made breakfast," she giggled, squeezing Gilligan's hand.

"Ugh, fish pancakes," Gilligan grimaced. "Or raw turtle eggs."

"Mixed with papaya," Mary Ann added.

"Gross, Mary Ann."

"I hope they don't expect me to cook for them every day while I'm on my honeymoon," Mary Ann went on. "They're going to have to learn to do without me for a few days!"

"Maybe we can sneak some stuff back to our hut," said Gilligan, helping Mary Ann over a fallen coconut tree. "Then we wouldn't have to come back to camp if we didn't want to."

Mary Ann stopped on top of the fallen tree. She looked down at Gilligan who was now about three inches shorter. "That's a wonderful idea," she agreed. "I'll make extra food and we can bring it back and then..." she rested her arms around his neck, "...we can spend a whole day in bed if we want."

Gilligan's eyes widened as he thought about what this meant. "What would we do in bed for the whole day?" he asked, looking slightly puzzled.

"Oh, Gilligan, what do you think we'd do?"

He smiled, then he blushed deeply and went shy. "Oh. Yeah," he said in a low voice. "_That_." He watched as her face came closer. "You think we could do _that_ for a whole _day_?"

"Mm-hmm," Mary Ann nodded, her lips brushing close to his lips. "A whooole day." She kissed him softly, nipping his lower lip with her teeth, sighing when she felt his hands on the exposed skin at her waist.

"Mary Ann," he mumbled, as she dropped small kisses all over his face, "I'm not a machine!"

Mary Ann laughed suddenly, his remark striking her as extremely funny. Where did he come up with these things? The more she thought about it the funnier it got, and soon she was lost in a fit of the giggles. She jumped off the log and into his arms, her whole body shaking with mirth. "Oh, Gilligan, that was funny!" she cried, wiping tears from her eyes.

Gilligan was delighted to have made her laugh so hard. He'd only repeated something he heard the Skipper say once, and that was when they were in the Navy and he'd overheard Skipper having a conversation with a group of other Navy guys. But Mary Ann's laughter tickled him and he resolved to remember the comment for the next time he wanted to make her laugh.

Finally, when she stopped laughing, he cupped her face in one hand and kissed her gently, quelling her mirth and making her sigh instead. "You know I'd do anything for you, Mary Ann," he murmured.

Mary Ann held him tight, knowing he meant every word he said.

# # # #

They heard familiar voices as they approached the camp, and when they came out through the trees and into the clearing, both blushing slightly, the first person they saw was Ginger, and the first voice they heard was Lovey Howell's.

"Oh, look, everybody, _look_! Here they are, the happy couple!"

Mary Ann blushed even deeper, clutching Gilligan's hand tightly to stop either of them from bolting away back though the trees.

"Hi, Mrs. Howell," Gilligan grinned sheepishly as the older woman got up from the table and came trotting over, her arms held out towards them.

"Gilligan, _dar_-ling," Lovey greeted the first mate warmly, hugging him briefly and kissing him on the cheek, then holding him at arm's length and peering closely at him up and down. "You look _wonderful_!"

Gilligan pulled a look of mild curiosity. "I do?"

"Oh, yes, darling- being married _definitely_ suits you. And Mary Ann, you're positively glowing!" The socialite swept Mary Ann into a motherly hug, kissing her on both cheeks and leaving lipstick stains on the young girl's face.

Ginger had gotten up from the table and had drifted towards Gilligan. "Mrs. Howell's right," she said breathily, standing directly in front of the first mate, her eyes dancing over his face. "You do look different." She leaned closer and pressed a kiss against his cheek, lingering there just a little longer than she needed to. When she pulled back, she was surprised to see that Gilligan looked anything but nervous, in fact he was grinning at her.

"Different how?" he asked, innocently.

Ginger was the one who hesitated now. "Well," she said, dropping her gaze, "For a start, you don't look quite so scared of me any more."

Gilligan shrugged. "What's there to be scared of, Ginger?"

Ginger raised her eyes again, checked his expression. He looked completely guileless. She smiled, suddenly realising that he was teasing her. Gilligan was actually teasing her! His wedding night had definitely changed him. Ginger resolved to get Mary Ann on her own later and prise all the juicy details out of her.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Howell had engaged Mary Ann in conversation and was dragging the young girl towards the table so that they could sit down and have a proper gossip. Mary Ann kept protesting that she needed to start on the breakfast, but Lovey assured her that everyone had already eaten, and wouldn't take no for an answer.

Gilligan left Ginger, who was still studying him curiously with a small smile on her face, and went over to the hut he normally shared with Skipper. He poked his head around the door. "Anybody home?" he called, even though he could see the Skipper standing right there, his arms out and a welcoming grin on his face.

"Oh, Gilligan!" Jonas Grumby cried as Gilligan ambled bashfully into the hut, still clutching the clothes belonging to the Professor and Mr. Howell. "How's my little buddy?" The big man swept Gilligan into the biggest bear hug the first mate had ever known. "Oh, little buddy, it's so good to see you!"

Gilligan hugged the Skipper back. "Good to see you too, Skipper."

"So, tell me," Skipper grinned, clapping Gilligan heartily on the back. "How was it? Hmm? How was it?"

"How was what?" Gilligan asked. "How was the hut? Gee Skipper, that's some hut. And the shower and bathroom and everything- me and Mary Ann can't thank you enough for building us all that stuff."

"Well, you're quite welcome, little buddy," Skipper chuckled, patting Gilligan's arm, "but that's not what I meant!" There was an excited, expectant look on the Skipper's face as his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "I meant, how _was_ it? You know, how was your first night as a _married man?"_

Gilligan peered at his friend curiously. "Skipper? You got something in your eye?" he asked. "Or are you getting a twitch?"

Skipper sighed gustily. "I'm not twitching Gilligan, I'm winking!" He winked theatrically. "See?"

"Oh! Okay." Gilligan grinned at the Skipper's comical expression. "Well, let's see, my first night as a married man. I guess you could say it was pretty alright."

"'_Pretty alright'_?" Skipper said incredulously. "Is that all?"

"Well, no," Gilligan said thoughtfully. "I guess 'alright' is the wrong word, let's see...it was pretty darned good."

"Good? Good? Is _that_ all?" Jonas Grumby was getting overexcited now, his hands on Gilligan's shoulders as though trying to shake the truth out of him.

"No...maybe 'good's the wrong word, too." Gilligan frowned in mock-concentration. "Let's see...it wasn't 'alright', it wasn't 'good'...spectacular? Yeah, spectacular. It was pretty spectacular, Skipper!"

"Oh, Gilligan, that's fantastic!" The Skipper enveloped Gilligan in another ferocious bear hug, almost squeezing the breath out of the young man's skinny frame. "Spectacular! Oh, boy, little buddy. I can't believe you've actually...I mean, you're actually...you're a man now, Gilligan! A real _man_!"

"What was I before?" Gilligan asked, his face squashed up against the Skipper's meaty shoulder.

"Oh...you know what I mean!" Skipper grinned. "You're married! You've _done_ it! You've finally sampled the pleasures of the flesh!"

Gilligan's eyes grew wide. He stared incredulously at the Skipper. "Skipper!" he exclaimed. "I have not sampled the pleasures of the flesh! I've never been anywhere near that bar in Honolulu!"

"I don't mean it like that," Skipper chuckled, affectionately whacking the first mate with his cap. "I meant, you've _lain with a woman_! You know, you've finally _done the deed._"

"I didn't do any deeds," Gilligan said, frowning. "I had sex with Mary Ann, though."

"Doop!" the Skipper cried, clamping his hand firmly over Gilligan's mouth. "There's no need to spell it out!"

Gilligan disengaged himself from the Skipper's clutches and put the pile of clothes down on a chair. "That's what you wanted to know, isn't it?" he said, looking around for something. "Skipper, have you seen my shirt anywhere?"

"It's over there, on your pillow," Skipper said, waving his hand towards the two-tiered hammocks. "And what's with this sudden airy attitude? Of course I want to know! You're my little buddy! I'm excited for you!"

Gilligan located his beloved red shirt and pulled it over his head, smoothing it down and then straightening his hat. He peered in the mirror. That was more like it. He was himself again. "I know you're excited, Skipper," he smiled. "You always go all red in the face when you're excited."

Skipper sighed and rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Gilligan. Welcome home!"

Gilligan turned away from his own reflection and looked fondly at his big buddy. "Skipper, I can't talk about Mary Ann like that, you know I can't, even to you. All I can say is, I had a...a really, _really_, REALLY goodwedding night."

"Ohh, Gilligan, of course, I understand. Say no more," Skipper said, quietly proud of his little buddy's gallantry, even if he did secretly want to know all the salacious details, and then some. "You know, I do believe I have a cigar around here, somewhere..."

"Uh, that's okay, Skipper," said Gilligan, feeling slightly nauseous at the thought of smoking a cigar, especially at this time of the day, "but thanks for the thought."

# # # #

Outside, Mary Ann was being grilled by Lovey and Ginger.

"So, tell me, Mary Ann. Was everything satisfactory?" Lovey Howell asked, her face a picture of motherly concern.

"Yes," Ginger nodded, her green eyes flashing, "was _everything satisfactory_?"

Mary Ann fidgeted, but she couldn't stop a little smile from tugging at her lips. "Yes, it was," she nodded, playing with a palm frond.

"Darling, did he take_ care _of you?" Lovey persisted.

"Of course he did," Mary Ann smiled. "Gilligan wouldn't know how to be any other way _but_ caring."

"Good, good." Lovey looked down at the table, preparing her next question. "And the bed? Was it comfortable?" She blinked, made a slight attempt to stop herself from sounding so eager. "I mean, I only ask because the Captain and the Professor spent _such_ a long time on making it strong enough to withstand..."

Ginger cleared her throat daintily. Meanwhile, Mary Ann was squirming and blushing furiously.

"The bed was fine, Mrs. Howell. Really, everything was fine." Mary Ann looked up and caught Ginger's eye. "Actually, it was more than fine," she added dreamily.

Lovey Howell's eyes lit up. This was more like it! "Oh, do tell!" she said, then sat back hurriedly. "I mean, do tell us what a lovely time you had."

"Ohh," Mary Ann sighed, still gazing at Ginger, "Gilligan is just about the most caring and wonderful and _gentle_ man I've ever known. I'm so lucky to have found him, and even luckier to have married him!"

"And how long did it take to get him into bed?" Ginger asked outright, seeing no more need to beat around the bush.

"Ginger!" Mary Ann said, flustered. But then she smiled again. Half of her wanted the girls to know everything and think how wonderful it must be to have a husband like Gilligan. She wanted them to think of Gilligan as a strong, capable man for once. She wanted him to be a lion in their eyes. She lowered her eyelids coyly. "For your information, it didn't take long at all."

Ginger exchanged a knowing look with Mrs. Howell. "Really?" she smiled. "What made him so keen, all of a sudden?" She turned her green eyes back to Mary Ann, but her teasing look was affectionate and sisterly.

Mary Ann flashed a look back at the movie star. "I did," she said, with just a hint of pride in her voice. "I made sure he was unable to resist me."

Mrs. Howell fanned her hand in front of her face. "Oh, my!" she said, almost breathlessly. "I ought to be scandalized, but I'm not! How absolutely _thrilling_! "

"Well, whatever you did, it worked," Ginger laughed softly. "He looks like a different man this morning!"

Mrs. Howell leaned across the table and put her hand on Mary Ann's arm. The older woman's eyes shone with the overwhelming need for more information. "Oh, Mary Ann, for goodness sakes, enough of this pretending...just tell us what we're dying to know!"

Mary Ann burst into embarrassed laughter while Ginger sat wide eyed and stared at Mrs. Howell.

"Oh, Ginger, darling, don't tell me you're not curious," Mrs. Howell said.

"Well, I must admit," Ginger smiled, fluttering her eyelashes coyly, "I never thought I'd see the day that Gilligan...you know. I suppose I am wondering a little."

"What it was like?" Mary Ann grinned, secretly loving all the attention.

Mrs. Howell leaned even further across the table. She was all ears.

"Well, it was..." Mary Ann leaned into the little huddle and tried to think of the right words to say. How could she describe how wonderful it had been? How Gilligan took notice of everything, how he watched her face so intently, how his hands seemed to know exactly what they were doing, even though he'd never done it before? How he said all the right things, not even knowing how right they were? How considerate he was, how gentle when he needed to be, how good and safe his lean and supple body felt in her arms, and how his gentleness belied a power that was almost godlike? How could she make them understand that the clumsy, goofy Gilligan they knew was way, way more than just the sum of his parts- he was unique, he wasn't here by accident, he had been purposely created for this very reason- for making sure that Mary Ann was the happiest girl in the world.

How could she explain all that in a way that they would believe her?

Just as Lovey and Ginger were growing fidgety with impatience, a sudden familiar flash of red caught Mary Ann's eye and she sat back, blushing as Gilligan appeared at the table. "Hi, girls!" he said, happily. "Whatcha talking about?"

Lovey fell back in her seat as though someone had stuck her with a cattle prod. "Gilligan! You frightened the life out of me!" she cried. "What are you doing here?"

Gilligan stared at the older woman. "I live here," he said, puzzled.

"I mean, what are you doing _here,_ at the table, right now this minute?"

"I came to see Mary Ann," the first mate replied. "She's going to make pancakes, right, Mary Ann? Well, we're going to make pancakes, 'cause we're married now, so we have to do everything together." He grinned at the girls, rearranging his shoulders almost proudly.

"I believe that's what we were just about to discuss!" Lovey went on, fanning her face again.

"Pancakes?" said Gilligan.

"Come on, Gilligan," Mary Ann smiled, getting up from the table with relief. "I think we'd better go and get started on those pancakes right away!"


	3. Every Day Is Pancake Day

Gilligan helping Mary Ann with the pancakes worked well enough in theory, but in practise it was a slightly different story. It wasn't long before he'd burned two and dropped one in the sand, and he kept standing too close to Mary Ann and getting in the way. As much as she loved the awkward first mate and wanted him to feel as though he was being useful, Mary Ann decided enough was enough and that she'd do better- and they'd have more pancakes- if she were allowed to work on her own. She liked space when she cooked anyway, even Ginger got in the way sometimes with her complete lack of culinary expertise, always wanting to add ingredients that didn't go with the dishes in an attempt to be creative.

"Gilligan, sweetheart," Mary Ann softened her voice so he wouldn't feel rejected, "why don't you go over and talk to the men? I'm sure they're all dying to see you!" For by this time, Thurston Howell the Third and Professor Roy Hinkley had appeared at the table and, along with the Skipper, were talking quietly among themselves.

"But I like helping you," Gilligan replied, with that look on his face that said 'don't you want me?'

"I know, but..." Mary Ann looked with dismay at the lumpy batter he was stirring and slopping everywhere, "...if I make the pancakes on my own I'll be finished quicker, and then we can get back to our hut quicker, and...well, you know." Mary Ann looked up at him, fluttering her eyelashes coyly.

Gilligan's brain slowly processed her words and actions. She was looking at him in a most suggestive manner. He glanced down at her bare, tanned legs and felt another of those warm tingles that started in his stomach and radiated outwards through his entire body. He blinked. "Okay, Mary Ann. If you insist." Obediently, he handed over the bowl of lumpy batter.

"Thank you, Gilligan. Now, off you go!" As Gilligan turned away, still with that faraway look on his face, Mary Ann patted his rear with the palm of her hand, giggling when he looked back at her with his eyebrows raised. She loved teasing him- it was so easy, and he was so goodnatured.

The Skipper started going "Shh! Shh!" to the other men as Gilligan approached, although all three men had broad grins on their faces, even the Professor who normally looked lost in serious contemplation.

"Why are you going 'Shh' so loud?" said Gilligan, plopping down onto the bench next to the Skipper. "I could hear you a mile away." There was a bowl of fruit and he swiped a handful of grapes and popped one into his mouth, slouching across the table.

"Well, look who's all blasé now that he's a married man!" Jonas Grumby chortled, winking at the others.

"What's 'blasé'?" Gilligan asked.

"Acting all nonchalant," the Skipper grinned.

"What's 'nonchalant'?" Gilligan foraged in the fruit bowl for something else to eat.

"Never mind," the Skipper sighed. He put his arm around Gilligan's shoulders and gave the first mate a fond squeeze.

"Gilligan, dear boy," Thurston Howell interjected, leaning towards the young man, who was now munching his way through a banana, "a little bird told me that your wedding night was a complete success."

Gilligan stopped chewing, his cheek bulging with banana. "A bird told you that?" he mumbled.

"Yes. I think it was Sammy the Stool Pigeon." The millionaire gave a hearty chuckle at his own joke.

"I don't know him," Gilligan said. "But he shouldn't be talking about my wedding night like that."

Gilligan was so busy eating out of the fruit bowl that he didn't see the Skipper squirming and blushing beside him. "Anyway, I don't know how he knows, because Mary Ann made me close all the windows so no-one could see in."

The Skipper coughed loudly. The Professor looked away at the trees and Thurston Howell sat back with a loud "My word!" before smiling broadly and leaning forward again.

"Anyway, Gilligan, I must say I'm delighted that all went well- ah, as far as I know. And I'm certainly not going to press for details. What we were discussing, was the fact that although the girls all got together before your wedding, us boys didn't properly celebrate your upcoming nuptials with a little shindig of our own."

"You didn't have a party for me, either," Gilligan said.

"If I remember rightly," said the Professor, "we did suggest it, but at the time you were going through a stage of having second thoughts."

"Yeah, remember, little buddy? The mere mention of the W word made you want to go off and live in a cave."

"I remember," Gilligan nodded sheepishly. "I kept saying I wanted to be a bachelor forever and ever."

"And didn't you have one of your dreams?" Skipper said.

"Yeah. I was President of The Bachelors Forever Club and I was up on top of the Empire State Building and all these girls were flying around in airplanes like Wrongway Feldman's, trying to shoot me down."

The Skipper chuckled. "I think you must have eaten too many bananas before bedtime."

"But that was before I knew what it was like to be married," Gilligan said, smiling.

"Well, I'm very glad to hear it!" Thurston beamed. "Marriage is an institution! I don't know where I would be sometimes without my dear Lovey."

"So, little buddy, what do you say, will we have our belated bachelor party tomorrow night?" said the Skipper, hopefully.

"You still want to have a party?" Gilligan asked. "For me?"

"For you, little buddy. Just us guys. We'll have ourselves a swinging time!"

"Okay!" grinned Gilligan. "I love a party, especially when it's for me!"

Mary Ann came to the table then, with a plate stacked high with fresh pancakes and some syrup to pour on them. "Dig in, boys!" she said, standing back with her hands on her hips.

Gilligan immediately reached for one.

"Not you, Gilligan, silly. I've got ours in a box to take back to our hut."

"But, they'll get cold!" Gilligan protested, staring at Mary Ann, then at the pancakes, then back at Mary Ann, then back at the pancakes. His mouth was already watering. Meanwhile, the Skipper had plucked three pancakes off the top of the pile and was busy tucking in, making all kinds of yummy noises and winking at Gilligan.

"Not if we hurry!" said Mary Ann, impatiently reaching for Gilligan's hand.

"Gilligan, my boy, I should do as your dear wife says and hop to it!" Thurston Howell chortled. Even the Professor looked like he wanted to laugh.

"Yes, Gilligan, if you want your pancakes hot, you'd better get going," the Skipper mumbled with his mouth full.

Pouting, Gilligan allowed Mary Ann to drag him away from the table. "I sure wish I could have one now!" he complained, as Mary Ann handed him the box and some other supplies such as mango juice and eating utensils and a fresh change of laundry for the bed and a few other last minute things she thought they might need.

"Well, come on then!" Mary Ann laughed, watching her husband stagger under the pile of goods all balanced in his skinny arms. "You can have one as soon as you get home!"

With the sounds of the other men laughing and saying farewell, Gilligan turned away from the table with a loud sigh and followed his happy young wife into the trees and onto the series of winding jungle paths that led to the Honeymoon Hut.

# # # #

"I've never seen anyone with an appetite as big as yours," Mary Ann smiled as Gilligan devoured his fourth pancake, dripping in syrup.

"They were gonna get cold," Gilligan explained. He had barely made it through the door of the hut before he'd dumped all the supplies in a pile and ripped the box containing the pancakes wide open. Then he'd grabbed a plate and proceeded to eat straight from the box, sitting cross legged on the floor.

"Are you going to leave any for me?" Mary Ann teased, sitting on her knees in front of him, amused at the way he ate as if there were no tomorrow.

Gilligan stopped with his fork halfway to his lips. Her doleful expression looked funny. He turned the fork around and fed her his chunk of pancake, sneaking a quick look down her top as she leaned forward on her haunches.

"I saw that, mister," Mary Ann smiled, chewing the pancake.

"Saw what?" Gilligan said, innocently.

"You looked down my blouse."

"Did not."

"You did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Okay, did too. Maybe just a little bit." Gilligan looked suitably apologetic. "But I couldn't help it."

"Did you like what you saw?" Mary Ann teased, leaning closer.

"Yeah," he admitted with a goofy grin.

"Would you like to see more?" Mary Ann was so close now that Gilligan almost had to lean back. He was still clutching his plate in one hand and the fork in the other. He couldn't take his eyes off Mary Ann's face, except to sneak another look down her top.

"I guess," he mumbled, that strange excitement coursing through his body yet again.

Mary Ann raised herself onto her knees in front of him and crossed her arms over her front, taking hold of the hem of her top. As Gilligan watched avidly, she slowly pulled the top up and over her head, exposing her perfectly rounded breasts which wobbled slightly as she stretched her arms up high.

Gilligan dropped both the fork and the plate with a loud clatter. His eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. He hadn't realised that Mary Ann wasn't even wearing a bra! He stuttered something completely unintelligible.

"Did you just say 'pancakes'?" Mary Ann blushed.

Gilligan nodded mutely.

Mary Ann cupped his face in both hands and inched her lips close to his. "Do you like my pancakes, Gilligan?" she whispered.

"M-Mary Ann," Gilligan whispered back, "y-you're acting like Ginger again."

Mary Ann laughed gently, enjoying the sweet scent of syrup on her husband's breath. "I'm trying to seduce you," she said. "Don't you like it?"

Gilligan watched her face closely. "Kind of," he admitted.

"I like doing it," Mary Ann said softly, gazing deep into his eyes. "Because I love you, and I've never felt this way about any man before."

Gilligan closed his eyes as her lips drifted towards his. When she finally kissed him, he sighed and relaxed and lifted his hands gently to her breasts.

"Mmm." Mary Ann wriggled as she felt his fingers brush over her nipples, sticky with syrup. There was syrup on his mouth and she savoured the taste of him, running the tip of her tongue along his lips, kneading his shoulders through the fabric of his red rugby shirt.

It was a long, slow and very sensual kiss, and when it ended, Gilligan put his lips to Mary Ann's ear and said hotly, "you have the best pancakes in the world, Mary Ann."

It didn't take long for them to get into bed after that, and they made love ardently, with Mary Ann writhing under Gilligan and holding him tightly as he moved above her, looking down at her with glazed eyes, a look of utter awe on his face, as though Mary Ann in all her naked, ecstatic glory was the Eighth Wonder of The World.

Afterwards they lay panting and sweaty in each other's arms, the smell of syrup still lingering about them, mingled with the raw animal scent of the act itself. Mary Ann loved to run her lips through Gilligan's hair at this point, inhaling its own unique odour, that papaya solution he loved to massage into his scalp. The old recipe had made everyone allergic to him, but the new recipe had Gilligan's locks growing thick and shiny and in need of constant trimming. Mary Ann loved the soft feel of it against her face during these wonderful moments of intimacy, these all too precious moments when Gilligan was actually being still.

It wasn't long before this particular precious moment was shattered by a muffled proclamation from Gilligan that made Mary Ann's heart sink. "What did you say, Gilligan?"

Gilligan raised himself up and looked at her sleepily. "I said, Skipper and the guys are throwing a party for me tomorrow night."

"Oh, Gilligan!" Mary Ann looked dismayed. "In the middle of our honeymoon?"

"You had a party with the girls," Gilligan said by way of explanation. "But the guys didn't have one for me. It's only fair, isn't it?"

Mary Ann felt her hackles rising. "And whose idea was this, as if I haven't guessed?"

Her husband shrugged. "All of them said it. Mary Ann, it'll be okay. It's nice to have parties."

"But this sounds like a Bachelor Party, Gilligan, and you're not a bachelor anymore."

"Maybe it's a Not-A-Bachelor-Anymore Party," Gilligan grinned, but it turned out that grinning was not the best idea as it only made Mary Ann look more perturbed. "Mary Ann, why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because it's the middle of our honeymoon, Gilligan. We should be enjoying this special time together." Mary Ann tried not to sound whiny.

"You had a party with the girls," Gilligan said. He was beginning to get that obstinate look about him, and was beginning to sound whiny too.

"It wasn't a party like yours will be a party," Mary Ann countered. "We put makeup on and swapped perfume and they gave me flowers. Yours will be...well, there'll be rum and, well, you know what men are like when they get together without women."

Gilligan looked offended. "Gee, Mary Ann, maybe you don't _want_ me to have a party."

"I want you to have a party, Gilligan," she said gently. "But guys' parties are different to girls' parties."

"How do you know? Have you ever been to a guys' party?"

"No, but I know they're raucous and rowdy and men get drunk."

"I won't get drunk, Mary Ann," Gilligan said, flashing puppy dog eyes at her.

"Stop doing that," Mary Ann chided him.

"What?"

"Making your eyes go all sad looking."

"I'm not!"

"You are," Mary Ann said, running her fingertips lightly over his face. "You know it works every time, too."

"It's only gonna be a small party, Mary Ann," Gilligan said, a shiver running down his spine as she began caressing his ear. "There won't be any trouble."

"There'd better not be," Mary Ann said, trying to sound as serious as she could. "I suppose the consolation is that I know exactly who's going to be there. So if there's any trouble, there'll be no pancakes for a month!"

.


	4. Bachelor Boys

_Chapter 4 is dedicated to Courtney, Karen and Heather, without whom. xx_

# # # #

The Skipper was growing impatient. "Ohh, where is he? Where is my little buddy?" he complained, looking at his watch and filling his coconut cup with heavily laced rum punch for the second time.

"_Relax_, Mon Capitaine, he'll _be_ here," drawled Thurston Howell the Third, sipping relaxedly from his own cup, giving a big exaggerated shiver as the rum hit the back of his nose and burned its way down his throat. "My! That hit the spot."

"Mon Capi...?" Skipper stopped and glared at the millionaire. "Mr. Howell, you know it's not like Gilligan to be late for his own party!" He began pacing up and down the hut, the sweat shining on his brow. "I'll bet Mary Ann stopped him. Oh, I _knew_ my little buddy shouldn't have gotten married! Why, I'll bet she has him right under her thumb. She probably locked the door so that he couldn't get out, and barred all the windows so that he couldn't climb out, and hid all the spoons so that he couldn't tunnel out, and..."

"Hi, everybody!" Came Gilligan's cheery voice from the doorway.

"Little buddy! You made it!" Skipper almost knocked the millionaire over in his haste to cross the room and sweep Gilligan into a huge bear hug.

"Oh, yeah- sorry I'm late, Skipper," Gilligan said, bashfully. "Mary Ann came with me."

"_Doop_!" the Skipper cried. "Mary Ann's here? I knew it! Where is she?" He moved Gilligan aside and peered anxiously out through the door as though expecting to see an irate Mary Ann standing there tapping her foot and holding a rolling pin.

"She's not _here_, Skipper. She's with Ginger and Mrs. Howell in the girls' hut. But she made me promise not to get drunk." Gilligan's eyes alighted on the table groaning with food and drink, and his eyes grew round. "Oh, boy, _punch_!" He ran to the table in his haste to get at the punchbowl, selecting a coconut cup and sloppily filling it to the brim. "Hi, Professor, hi, Mr. Howell. Bottoms up!" he said, then swallowed half of the contents in one go.

The others watched Gilligan's face contort as the powerful rum consumed him from the neck down. "Wha...wha...wha..." the first mate gasped, clutching his throat, staggering backwards and going bright red. "Wha...what's..._in._..this...stu...stu...stuff?"

The Professor looked sternly at Mr. Howell, who furrowed his brow innocently. "Copious amounts of a distilled alcoholic beverage made from sugarcane by-products," he said.

"Oh! Tastes like rum," said Gilligan, getting his breath back and draining the rest of his cup, which brought on another coughing fit, but not as bad as the first one.

"Well, now that our Guest of Honour is here, I guess it's time to get the party started!" announced the Skipper, raising his cup in the air, waiting until Mr. Howell, The Professor and Gilligan had refilled their cups. "To my little buddy, Gilligan- no longer a bachelor, but always my best friend!"

# # # #

Half an hour later, Gilligan was already looking a little bleary-eyed. "That was a swell speech, Skipper," he grinned, throwing his arm around the Skipper's shoulders as they sat at the table. "You know I'll always be your best friend, dont'cha?"

"Well, I'm glad to hear it, Gilligan," the Skipper beamed, tapping their cups together.

"Bottoms up, Skipper," Gilligan said, lifting the cup to his lips and spilling most of the contents over his face.

The Professor put some music on the cocophone, from a collection of Elvis Presley records that had washed up in the lagoon about a year and a half ago. Gilligan immediately began singing Blue Suede Shoes, even though the song was Jailhouse Rock.

"Did you have to put this noise on?" groaned Mr. Howell, screwing up his face.

"It's Gilligan's party," said the Professor, with a goodnatured shrug. "He likes this music."

"This is not music," the millionaire complained. "Vivaldi is music. Haydn is music. Even Laurence Welk is music. But this- this is a cacophony performed by untrained howler monkeys!"

"Don't you...step on my boo shlood shoods." Gilligan sang loudly, punch dripping off his chin, then hiccupped. "Whoops. Mary Ann said I wasn't supposed to get drunk."

"Oh, women!" the Skipper scoffed dismissively, dipping his empty cup into the punchbowl. "They always make such an issue."

"Gesundheit," said Gilligan.

The Skipper wiped his hand over his face. "No, Gilligan, I said _issue_."

"Gesundheit!" Gilligan repeated, grinning inanely.

"Good grief, to think somebody actually married him," Mr. Howell chuckled, winking at the Professor.

"Mary Ann married me, 'cause she's the best girl in the whole world," Gilligan announced, slapping his palms down on the table. "And I won't hear another word against her!"

"Calm down, dear boy," Mr. Howell smiled, putting another drink into the first mate's hand. "We all think Mary Ann is the most wonderful girl alive, but at the same time, you mustn't let the woman get the upper hand! You must always be the one in charge. Otherwise it leads to no end of trouble."

"Like what?" said Gilligan with a frown, pursing his lower lip.

"Well, the minute they think they can get away with telling you what to do, they start to do it all the time. Do this, do that, don't do this, don't do that...it's a nightmare, I tell you."

"Mary Ann only told me not to get drunk," Gilligan said, spilling more of his drink as he leaned across the table. "'Cause if I get drunk, then I'm sleeping outside."

"You see? Spoiling a man's fun and depriving him of his bed!" The millionaire feigned outrage.

"Oh, but being married is fun, Mr. Howell," Gilligan protested. "'Cause you get to have lots of sex and stuff, and I didn't think I'd like sex, but I do."

The Skipper spluttered and spat a mouthful of drink across the table. "Gilligan!"

"Well, you're allowed to have sex when you're married!" Gilligan went on. "In fact, you have to! It's the law, right Mr. Howell? No wait, I'll ask the Professor. Professor? Hey, Professor? You have to have sex when you're married, right? Don't you, Professor?"

The Professor was staring distractedly at the pile of records, trying to keep out of the conversation. At length he selected a record, put it on the cocophone, and began cranking the old ship's wheel that served as the turntable. "Yes, Gilligan," he replied thoughtfully. "By law, a union of marriage must be consummated by the...er... physical act of intercourse, otherwise it can end up being declared null and void."

"Huh?" Gilligan frowned, going slightly cross-eyed.

"You have to have sex," the Professor sighed, "or the marriage is kaput."

"See?" Gilligan brightened immediately and grinned at the Skipper. "And sex is real nice, so I don't see why anybody wouldn't want to do it. Hey, Professor," Gilligan raised his voice just as the Professor lifted the cocophone's arm onto the spinning disc, "you should marry Ginger, then you could get to have sex, too."

There was an almighty screech as the startled Professor pushed the needle straight across the record and ruined it.

"Music to my ears!" Mr. Howell said, delighted at the sudden silence that followed.

"I beg your pardon, Gilligan?" Roy Hinkley spluttered.

Ignoring the Skipper's hand trying to cover his mouth, Gilligan pressed on determinedly. "You should marry Ginger," he said, repeatedly pushing Skipper's arm away from his face. "I know she likes you, Mary Ann said so, and she can't keep trying to kiss me any more because I'm married, so I was thinking, if you married her it would make her happy, and you would be happy too, because then you could have lots and lots of...mmmmmpphhh!" The Skipper finally succeeding in blocking the rest of Gilligan's babbling with his hand.

The Professor went a deep red colour from the open collar of his shirt right up to his hairline. He turned away, his hand covering his own mouth. "I suppose she's not getting any younger," he muttered below his breath, then quickly collected himself. He scooped a coconut cup full of punch and downed it in one go, standing rigidly as the alcohol seared its way down his throat and made his eyes water.

The Skipper shot a glare at Gilligan before slowly removing his hand from the first mate's mouth, ready to clamp it back at any moment if need be.

"Sorry, Skipper," Gilligan said contritely. "Guess it's not fair of me to talk about sex when no-one else is having it except for me and Mary Ann, huh? I mean, I know how I'd feel if I hadn't eaten any pie for a long time and then someone who had eaten some pie came along and started telling me how good that pie was. Boy, I'd sure feel sad at the thought of not getting any pie."

"Gilligan..." the Skipper said slowly.

"'Cause everyone knows how much I like pie, so if someone started saying how great that pie was, and I hadn't had any pie..."

"Gilligan!" the Skipper shouted. "Stop talking about sex!"

Gilligan flinched. "I was talking about pie!" he shouted back.

"Well, for goodness sakes, if we can't talk about _s-e-x_, then this isn't much of a bachelor party," Mr. Howell drawled, airily studying the label on an almost empty bottle of rum.

"Mr. Howell, it's not the talking about sex that bothers me," the Skipper sighed, "it's the way he keeps reminding me that...well, _it's been a long time_, if you get my meaning."

"Ah, yes, you poor thing, I'm sure those bars of Honolulu are but a distant memory," Mr. Howell agreed, trying to look sympathetic.

"Too distant," the Skipper pouted, staring into his punch.

"Hey Skipper, remember you telling me that story about the girl who could shoot ping-pong balls out of her..." Gilligan was cut off again by the Skipper's hand clamping firmly over his mouth. "Mmmmph!"

"Captain, must you keep interrupting the boy? That was shaping up into quite an interesting tale!" Mr. Howell protested.

"Oh, all right," the Skipper sighed, removing his hand from Gilligan's mouth. "I guess maybe I am being a little overly sensitive, seeing as I never quite know what Gilligan's going to say next!" He finished by fixing the first mate with a pointed stare.

"But Skipper, it was a funny story. See, Mr. Howell, Professor, this girl would put a ping-pong ball, see, she'd put a ping-pong ball..." Gilligan shoulders began shaking and soon he was laughing uncontrollably. "She'd put a ping-pong ball in her...in her..." Gilligan was leaning against the Skipper now, and his big buddy was also starting to chuckle. "In her...um, I don't even know what it's called." Gilligan was almost hysterical now. "Anyway, she'd put a ping-pong ball in there, and then she would...she would..."

The Skipper took over from Gilligan, who by now could barely string a sentence together. "She would shoot it across the room into a glass of whisky and then whoever lost the bet would have to drink the whisky!" At that, the Skipper and Gilligan both doubled over, hooting with laughter, clinging to each other and shaking as the tears of mirth ran down their faces.

The Professor looked distinctly unimpressed, and even Mr. Howell sat there with his eyebrows raised up to his receding hairline. "Good heavens, look at them," he declared. "They're nothing but a pair of Yale men!"

"I guess you had to be there!" Jonas Grumby howled with laughter.

"I must say, I'm very glad I wasn't!" The Professor retorted, folding his arms across his chest.

"Oh, Professor, it was all harmless fun," Skipper chuckled, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Those were the days, eh, Gilligan?"

"For you, they were," Gilligan replied, straightening his hat and leaning over to refill his cup, spilling punch across the table. "You wouldn't let me go in those places in case I got...what was that word?"

"Arrested?" grinned the Skipper.

"No, not arrested. Co...something."

"Corrupted?"

"Yeah, corrupted. You wouldn't let me go in those places in case I got corrupted. What's corrupted?"

For some reason Jonas Grumby found that extremely funny and soon he was off again, leaning on the table and almost crying with laughter.

"Skipper's gone island-happy," Gilligan giggled.

"I'd like to know exactly how much rum you put in this punch, Mr. Howell," said the Professor, arching one eyebrow at the millionaire.

"Just a smidgen," the millionaire replied, holding his thumb and forefinger a small distance apart.

"How much of a smidgen?"

Reluctantly, Mr. Howell pointed at one of the empty rum bottles.

"I see. The whole bottle."

"It slipped," said Mr. Howell, trying to wriggle out of all responsibility.

"Look at them, they're completely inebriated. What's Mary Ann going to say?"

"Oh, pish, Professor," Mr. Howell said, brushing the Professor's words aside. "She can say what she likes. This is Gilligan's party and he's allowed to enjoy himself!"

The first mate straightened his shoulders proudly, then promptly slumped sideways with the effort, almost knocking his drink over. "Yeah, that's right! It's my Not-A-Bachelor-Anymore Party. A toast!" He lurched to his feet. "To me!"

"And why not?" Mr. Howell agreed, also getting to his feet. "A toast to Gilligan!"

"To Gilligan!" The Skipper boomed, staggering to his feet, reaching for Gilligan to steady himself so that they both ended up swaying together like a drunken A-frame.

The Professor sighed in defeat, picked up his half full coconut cup and raised it in the air. "To Gilligan," he said.

They all tipped back their cups and drank them dry, even Roy Hinkley. Gilligan swayed like a bamboo cane in the wind. "See this ring?" he said, lifting his left hand. "It's made of solid gold."

"I know, Gilligan, I made it for you," said the Professor.

"See, Mr. Howell? Solid gold." Gilligan waved his hand in front of the millionaire's face. "My gold, that I kept from the gold mine. Everybody else lost theirs, but I kept some. I had rings made for both me and Mary Ann. See? I'm not so dumb, am I Mr. Howell?" He studied the ring happily, twisting it around his finger, polishing it with the hem of his rugby shirt. "It's a solid gold wedding ring, and it's mine, all mine. Because I'm married to Mary Ann, the most beautiful girl in the whole world." He blinked and hiccuped, and the hiccup nearly knocked him over.

"If she sees you like that, you won't be," said the Professor drily.

"Mary Ann's not my boss," said Gilligan, defiantly sticking out his lower lip. "Hey, Professor, what happened to the music?"

"Oh, no Gilligan, not that awful racket again," Mr. Howell sighed, as the first mate lurched around the table, knocked over a bowl of fruit, then knocked over a half full bottle of rum as he attempted to put all the spilled fruit back. "Oh, and be _careful _with that bottle, it's the good stuff- extra mature, 8-year-old oak barrel aged!"

"And yet you poured almost all of it into a bowl of mango and papaya juice in an attempt to get Gilligan drunk," the Professor tutted.

"If he's going to have a hangover he may as well have one of the best," Mr. Howell said, reasonably.

After staggering right around the perimeter of the room holding onto the walls, Gilligan reached the cocophone at last and was briskly winding the handle around and around. "Eight year old rum?" he said, staring at the millionaire through unfocused eyes. "Gee, Mr, Howell, I thought you of all people would be able to afford a new bottle!" When he got it spinning as fast as it would go, he picked up the arm and dropped the needle straight onto the spinning ship's wheel.

The Professor looked on in dismay. "Gilligan! You didn't put a..." he winced as the needle arm bounced up into the air and cracked in two, "...disc on the turntable."

"Oh. Sorry, Professor," Gilligan peered at the broken needle arm and then promptly forgot all about it. He lurched back to the table and plonked himself down next to the Skipper. "Professor, are you sure that isn't kepti bora juice in that bowl, 'cause I can see two of everyone."

"That's because you're drunk, Gilligan," Roy Hinkley replied.

"Oh, is that all?" Gilligan reached for a banana.

"Gilligan, my boy, enjoy your party," said Mr. Howell. "It's probably one of the last you'll ever get!"

"Well," said the Skipper, "that is, until they start having the _children's birthday parties_!"

Thurston Howell caught the Skipper's eye and laughed soundly. "Yes! Of course, there'll be parties for the _children_, most assuredly, however many there are!"

The Professor smiled and shook his head.

Gilligan looked up from his banana and peered at the millionaire and his big buddy in turn. "What children?" he asked, puzzled.

"Why, your children, Gilligan," smiled the Skipper beatifically.

Gilligan frowned, tried to focus his eyes. "I don't have any children, Skipper," he said.

"Not yet," the Skipper continued smiling.

Gilligan chewed slowly on his banana. The Skipper and Mr. Howell continued to grin at each other. They could see how hard Gilligan was trying to concentrate.

"Gilligan," the Skipper said, "all this wonderful sex you've been having. And it is wonderful, isn't it?"

Gilligan's eyes went instantly dreamy and he giggled shyly. "It sure is, Skipper."

"Well, what do you think sex leads to?"

"More sex?" Gilligan replied hopefully, still with the dreamy gaze.

"If one is very lucky," Mr. Howell muttered, sipping at his rum punch.

"Well, yes, that too," the Skipper chuckled, "but what else?"

"A big stack of pancakes?" Gilligan ventured.

"Gilligan, will you stop thinking with your stomach?"

"And other places," the millionaire muttered again.

"I don't know, Skipper! You're talking in riddles!" Gilligan leaned on the table and folded his arms in a fed-up manner.

"It leads to children, Gilligan! Sex makes babies, and babies mean children!"

Gilligan looked up. "Sex makes babies?" He asked, his eyes wide.

"Well, what did you think made babies? A team of little munchkins working in a baby factory?"

Gilligan was beginning to look worried. "I thought the stork brought them."

"The stork. No, Gilligan- time to grow up, little buddy! Sex makes babies, and you've been having lots and lots and _lots _of sex, as you're so happy to keep reminding us!"

Gilligan appeared frozen. He wasn't even blinking. "Sex? Makes babies?"

"Babies, Gilligan. Lots and lots of sex makes lots and lots of babies!"

"Skipper!" Gilligan wailed. "I'm not ready to have babies!"

"Well, you wouldn't actually be having the babies, Gilligan, Mary Ann would be the one carrying the foetus," the Professor said helpfully.

"The _what_?" Gilligan stared at the Professor in a panic.

"The foetus, Gilligan," explained Roy Hinkley. "That's what you call a baby before it's fully formed. You see, they start out very, very tiny, so tiny that you can't even see them, and they grow in the mother's uterus- the mother, in this case, being Mary Ann."

"Uterus?" mumbled Gilligan, blankly.

"He means in her belly," said the Skipper.

"Professor, please, some of us are trying to drink," Mr. Howell groaned into his coconut cup.

Gilligan swallowed so hard his Adam's apple lurched the whole length of his throat. "Do you mean there might be one in there now?" he whispered, aghast. "In Mary Ann's belly? Right now? And she doesn't know it?"

The Professor glared at the Skipper as if to say _how far are you intending to take this_?

The Skipper fidgeted. "Well, I'm sure there's absolutely nothing to worry about, little buddy," he blustered.

"But what if there is?" Gilligan went on. "What if Mary Ann's got a feetus inside of her right now? And she doesn't know it? I should go warn her!" Gilligan made to get up from the table but the Professor appeared behind him and put his hands on the first mate's shoulders in an attempt to quell the younger man's rising panic.

"Gilligan, what the Skipper says is true about how babies are made, but I think it was very wrong of him to make you panic like this."

"The Professor's right, little buddy, I'm sorry," the Skipper said. "I just thought it would be funny to tease you a little bit about all the s-e-x you've been having."

Gilligan stared at his big buddy. "Why?"

"Yes, why?" asked the Professor, his hands still holding Gilligan down.

"Because...oh, because it's not fair!" the Skipper cried. "Because it's been seven years since I had any!"

The Skipper had declared this so loudly that Gilligan cowered under the shelter of the Professor and Mr. Howell dropped his cup on the table, spilling rum everywhere.

"Good heavens, man!" the millionaire said. "Keep your voice down, do you want the girls to hear you?"

"I don't care who hears me!" The Skipper lamented. "It's been seven long years since I felt a woman's warm, loving arms around me! Seven long years!"

Gilligan shrank even further down into his seat and pulled his collar up to his chin. "Gee, Skipper, you know, sex isn't all that great. I mean, sometimes it can go on for hours and you get so tired, and sometimes the other person just wants to keep going, and going, and going, and..."

"That isn't helping, Gilligan," the Skipper said miserably.

"And I still don't know if Mary Ann has a secret baby inside her belly," the first mate added.

"Gilligan, most people do plan to have children when they get married," said the Professor. "I promise you that if Mary Ann were to fall pregnant, we'd all know what to do about it."

"Speak for yourself!" said Mr. Howell, indignantly.

"All right, most of us would know what to do about it," Roy concluded.

"Professor, as long as you knew what to do, I'd be happy, 'cause I trust you," said Gilligan. "Besides, it might be kinda neat to have children. Just think, another Gilligan!"

"Oh, Lord have Mercy, that's all we need, another Gilligan," spluttered Mr. Howell, filling his coconut cup to the brim and taking a long, hearty slurp to get over the shock of that announcement.

"Or maybe it'll be a girl," Gilligan went on. "Or maybe it'll be twins!"

"Heavens, no! Not two more Gilligans!" declared the millionaire, taking another hefty swig.

"Oh, boy- yeah. Having children would be _neat!_" Gilligan grinned. "We could build great big sandcastles on the beach! We could explore the whole island every day, and go butterfly hunting and have picnics and go swimming in the lagoon. I'd be the best daddy ever!" He shrugged the Professor's hands off his shoulders and lurched to his feet, waving his cup in the air. "I want to have children, Skipper! I want to have children!"

"Little buddy, calm down," the Skipper said, "I was only teasing you about the children!"

"But I _want _to have children, Skipper!" Gilligan threw the remainder of his punch down his throat and then climbed precariously onto his chair. "I want to have children!" he yelled, wobbling to and fro.

# # # #

In the girls hut, Mary Ann held her hand in the air to shh the others. "Was that Gilligan I just heard?" she asked, curiously.

"I heard someone yelling, too," Ginger nodded, a bright red lipstick poised at her mouth.

"Only Gilligan shouts and yells so uncouthly," Lovey Howell commented, smiling only mildly apologetically at Mary Ann. "Well! He does!"

They listened carefully, then heard it again. "That shrill, hideous howl certainly does sound like your husband," Lovey remarked.

"What did he say?" Mary Ann asked. "Did either of you hear it?"

"I couldn't make out a single word. He sounds drunk to me," said Ginger, looking back at her reflection and primping her already perfectly styled hair.

"Ohh! If he's drunk, I'll..."

The yelling got louder, and the girls suddenly realised that Gilligan was headed their way.

"What on earth is going on?" cried Lovey, her blue eyes growing wide with worry.

In the next moment, a dishevelled looking Gilligan appeared in the doorway of the girls' hut, panting and red faced, his rugby shirt stretched around the shoulders from where the other men had tried to hold him back, his eyes glassy and out of focus, his breath reeking of alcohol.

"Mary Ann! Mary Ann! I want to have children!" he hollered as the women stared at him in disbelief.

"Gilligan!" Mary Ann cried, shocked. "You're drunk!"

"And I'm drunk!" her husband declared happily, and collapsed in a heap on the floor.


	5. Gilligan In The Doghouse

_I'm thrilled at the fantastic reviews this story is getting. Thank you so much! It's a fun story to write and I'm happy that people are enjoying it._

_# # # #_

Gilligan awoke slowly. Extremely slowly. The first thing he was aware of was that the room was still moving. And not just moving, but rocking from side to side. At first he thought he was on the Minnow, until he remembered the Minnow was no more. Then he realised he was in his hammock, and it was the hammock gently swaying from side to side. Curiously, he wondered how he had got there. He cracked one eye open and looked down the length of his body at his feet. His sneaker laces were trailing as usual. His jeans were creased and dirty and there was something spilled on his left thigh. Lifting his head to take a closer look, he groaned loudly as the pain hit- sharp, blinding pain like a million woodpeckers all inside his skull trying to drill their way out. It was so sharp and blinding that he actually groaned out loud, squeezed his eyes shut, and pulled his hat down right over his face.

What had happened to him? Why was he feeling this bad?

"Gilligan?" came a soft, tentative voice from the sack below. "Gilligan, are you awake?"

"No," Gilligan mumbled painfully.

"How do you feel?" the Skipper whispered. He sounded just as bad.

"Shhhhh," came Gilligan's reply.

"That bad, huh. I don't feel so great myself. Oh, little buddy, we're in big trouble."

Gilligan hardly heard a word through the hammering in his head. His eyes throbbed like swollen grapes about to split their skin. He groaned again. His throat was dry and the inside of his mouth felt like sandpaper. He was also beginning to hate the rocking motion of the hammock.

"Skipper," he muttered after a few more minutes of silence had gone by. "I had the weirdest dream. Weirder than any of my other dreams. I dreamed I was married to Mary Ann." He tried to smile, but even his face hurt.

The Skipper moaned with his own pain. "That wasn't a dream, little buddy," he said gently. "You really are married to Mary Ann."

Gilligan's chest tightened. That hurt, too. "I am?" he ventured. The woodpeckers called for reinforcements and the banging in his head got worse.

"Look at your hand, little buddy."

Gilligan peered at his right hand. "What am I looking for?" He uttered.

"Other hand, you numbskull."

Gilligan peered at his other hand. There was a gold band around his ring finger. "Gee, how'd that get there?"

"It's your wedding ring, Gilligan. You were shouting all about it last night, remember? '_I'm married __to Mary Ann, I'm married to Mary Ann_'."

Gilligan let his hand flop over the side of the hammock. "I don't remember much about anything," he sighed. "Skipper, my head really hurts."

The Skipper sighed too, louder and gustier. "Mine too, little buddy, mine too. We really overdid it this time. You must remember something. It was your party, after all!"

"I think I remember the cocophone got busted," Gilligan said, slowly.

"You did that," Skipper replied.

"A bottle of rum got knocked over."

"You did that, too."

"Mr. Howell got really drunk."

"No, Gilligan, _you_ got really drunk."

"Oh." Gilligan thought about this, but even his thoughts hurt. His head felt like it was going to crack open like a coconut. "Skipper, Mary Ann told me not to get drunk."

"Oh, so you do remember," Skipper attempted a smile, but he too winced at the resulting agony.

"Skipper?" Gilligan tried turning over to look at his big buddy, but his body screamed in pain and he fell back, causing the hammock to rock violently in a way he really didn't like. "Skipper, are we really in trouble?"

"Yes, we are, Gilligan. We're in big, big trouble. I think we'd better keep our heads down for a while."

"No problem, Skipper. My head won't move at all."

"I heard talking outside earlier," the Skipper went on. "I think it was the girls deciding what to do with us."

"I hope they decide to leave us alone."

"I hope so too, little buddy, but something tells me we're not going to get away with it so lightly. Don't you remember anything of what happened last night? Don't you remember what you did, Gilligan?"

Gilligan felt his heart sink. "What I did? Skipper, that sounds bad. What'd I do?"

"Gilligan, you became obsessed with babies, and you went running into the girls' hut shouting that you wanted to have children."

Gilligan's eyes flew open, then immediately shut again. It felt like the room was collapsing around him. "I did _what_?" he whispered.

"Oh, Gilligan. You were so drunk you fell on the floor at Mary Ann's feet and I had to pick you up and carry you back here and put you to bed. All the way back to the hut you were mumbling about children and how you wanted to put a baby into Mary Ann's uterus. Don't you remember?"

"No!" Gilligan winced. "But you obviously do!"

"Oh, little buddy. I'm so sorry. I should never have allowed Mr. Howell to let you get so drunk!"

"'Put a baby into Mary Ann's uterus'?" Gilligan repeated. "I don't even know what that means!"

The Skipper had no time to reply to that. There was a loud rap at the door.

"Ow!" cried Gilligan. "That hurts!"

"You're both awake in there, I can hear you talking," came Mary Ann's voice.

"Uh-oh, she sounds mad," Gilligan muttered.

"That's because she _is_ mad," Mary Ann answered. "And if you're not going to get up, then I'm coming in. Right now!"

Startled, Gilligan tried to sit up. It was a bad move. The hammock lurched violently, turned over, and deposited the first mate on top of the Skipper like a sack of potatoes. Both men howled in pain, then the Skipper's hammock turned over and tipped the two of them onto the sandy floor, this time with the big man on top.

Gilligan spluttered and gagged as sand went in his mouth. His stomach lurched. His head was spinning. The Skipper was still sprawled on top of him, moaning in agony.

"Get up, both of you!" Mary Ann said. She was inside the hut now.

Gilligan stared up at his wife. Even when angry, she looked beautiful. He tried to smile at her, but she was having none of it.

"I said get up, Gilligan."

The Skipper rolled to one side and Gilligan pushed himself into a sitting position. "Skipper, you really need to lose weight," he said, gasping for breath.

"Shut up, Gilligan," the Skipper replied, face down on the gritty floor. "I don't have the energy to take my hat off and hit you with it."

"No, but I do," Mary Ann said. She reached down, plucked the captain's hat off the Skipper's head, and waved it in front of Gilligan.

Gilligan screwed his face up in anticipation of the blow. "Please don't, Mary Ann, my head already hurts," he whined.

Mary Ann threw the hat onto the lower hammock. "Of course I'm not going to hit you Gilligan. But you deserve all the pain you're feeling right now after what you did last night."

"Does _everybody_ but me remember what I did last night?" Gilligan groaned.

"Pretty much," Mary Ann pouted.

"I didn't mean it," Gilligan said desperately. "Whatever I said, I didn't mean it!"

Mary Ann sighed and put her hands on her hips. It was a stance Gilligan knew all too well. He felt his heart break.

"I'm sorry, Mary Ann," he said meekly. He couldn't even look at her now.

Mary Ann couldn't stay angry with him. He never meant any harm, he just got caught up in events. If she thought he had behaved with any hint of malice she would not have been able to forgive him, but Gilligan was not a deceitful or duplicitous man. He was, however, easily led, and the older men should have known better than to sit back and watch him drink so much.

"We'll talk about this back at our hut," Mary Ann replied, emphasising the 'our' with a glare at the Skipper, who had finally managed to push his bulk into a hunched over sitting position.

"I'm sorry too, Mary Ann," the Skipper said, looking for all the world like a ten year old boy caught stealing cookies.

"You should be apologising to Gilligan, not me," Mary Ann retorted. "I knew all along that party was a bad idea!"

"Yes, Mary Ann," the Skipper said quietly, lowering his eyes to the floor just as Gilligan had done.

"Come on, Gilligan," Mary Ann stretched out her hand for Gilligan to take. "We're leaving."

Gilligan wasn't about to argue, even though his body protested wildly at the smallest movement. He pushed himself onto his knees, waited there for a moment to regain his equilibrium, then attempted to stand. It was hard to get his legs to move independently. His first try sent him sideways onto the lower hammock. His second try sent him sprawling on top of the Skipper, who groaned and fell over onto his back. Pushing himself off the big man's bulk, Gilligan tried a third time. He reached for the top hammock and used it to drag himself to his feet, but the hammock swayed so much he ended up at a 45 degree angle and accidentally kicked the Skipper in the belly. The Skipper made a sound that suggested he was about to throw up.

"Gilligan, stop fooling about," Mary Ann scolded, tapping her foot.

"Yes, Mary Ann. I mean, no, Mary Ann." Gilligan was on his feet at last, but his legs felt distinctly wobbly. He straightened his hat, dusted down his rugby shirt. He could smell something nasty. He sniffed at his shirt. It was him. He was covered in stale rum punch. It was sickly and sweet and the alcohol went up his nose. He thought he was going to heave.

"Oh, dear," Mary Ann said, noticing the pale green tinge that had crept into his cheeks. "Come on, Gilligan, we'd better get you outside!"

The sun hit Gilligan's eyes like a nuclear explosion. "Aaagh!" he yelled, bending double and clutching the side of the hut for support.

"I see the beast is awake," came Lovey Howell's voice from across the clearing. "Is he still wittering on about babies?"

"No, I think he's going to be sick," Mary Ann replied.

"I'm not surprised," Lovey remarked. "Thurston was up all night making all kinds of dreadful noises. Most inconsiderate of him- I couldn't sleep a wink."

"And I haven't seen anything of the Professor this morning," came Ginger's petulant tone.

"I think they're all keeping their heads down, and so they should be!" Mary Ann replied indignantly. She was growing impatient with Gilligan's antics. "Come on, Gilligan, if you're going to be sick, just get it over with."

The first mate straightened, shook his head miserably. "Not sick," he mumbled, though he was still as white as a sheet.

"Then come on. I don't want you hanging around here any longer. You smell awful and you need a wash- in fact, if I had a hose, I'd use that on you. You're a mess, William Gilligan!"

The use of his full name made Gilligan shudder. Mary Ann sounded more than just a little bit mad. He lurched after his wife, taking great care to put one foot in front of the other and not to do anything more that would annoy her. All he wanted to do was get back into a lying down position and not have to look at or talk to anyone. He certainly didn't want to be reminded any more of what he'd said and done last night, but he had a feeling Mary Ann hadn't even started yet.

The walk back to the honeymoon hut was agony, both physically and mentally. Mary Ann barely looked at him, let alone spoke to him. The ground felt more uneven than usual and twice he walked into trees because he was too busy staring at his feet. Ferns and banana leaves hit him in the face constantly, vines snagged around his chest. He didn't normally experience this much trouble getting around. It was almost as if his own beloved island was punishing him for getting so drunk. He resolved never to drink again. It just caused too many problems and made everyone hate you and remind you of all the bad things you did that you couldn't remember yourself.

At the hut, Mary Ann finally turned and looked at him properly. "Take your clothes off and get washed before you set one foot in here," she told him.

"But, Mary Ann," he pleaded. He didn't think he had the strength to fill a bucket with water. He just wanted to flop down onto the bed.

"Do it, Gilligan. I'm not having you in here smelling like that. I'll get you the soap, and you'd better clean your teeth, too. That stale rum on your breath is just awful!"

Gilligan breathed into his hand and scented it. He winced. Mary Ann was right. This wasn't good. And people thought getting drunk was funny! It sure wasn't funny the next day.

While Mary Ann was getting his toiletries, Gilligan tiptoed around to the water trough and pulled the lid off. He put one hand in. The water was cold. He shivered. But he was thirsty as well, and it was fresh water. He cupped his hands and splashed his face and drank handfuls of the sweet tasting liquid. His parched throat rejoiced. His shrivelled, dehydrated brain swelled like a plump tropical fruit. He instantly felt a bit better.

He wasn't going to do anything to further upset Mary Ann today. He would do whatever she wanted. He dutifully began removing his clothes and was standing there shivering in just his hat and his boxer shorts when Mary Ann returned holding his things.

"Oh, Gilligan," she sighed. He was a pathetic sight. And why was he shivering? It was a warm, sunny morning. "Here," she sighed, handing over the bundle of items wrapped in a towel. "Do your best and come into the hut when you're ready."

Mary Ann sat on the edge of the bed listening to Gilligan splashing around outside. She certainly didn't want to stop him having fun, but she wished he hadn't gone to that silly 'bachelor party', or whatever he had called it. He was a married man now, and his first priority was meant to be his marriage and his wife. She hated being thought of as a spoilsport, but she wanted him to know that his behaviour had been unacceptable to her. He had embarrassed her spectacularly, and in front of everyone. Yelling about children at the top of his lungs like that and having to be carried out of the hut!

Gilligan appeared in the doorway with the towel around his waist and his dirty clothes all balled up in his fist. "What should I do with these?" he asked meekly.

"Just put them by the door. I'll do the laundry later." Mary Ann kept her voice light but firm. Despite the fact that she was mad at him, it was hard not to appreciate the sight of him standing there almost naked bar the towel. He looked a lot less pathetic now. His hair was wet and dripped down his neck. His shoulders had caught the sun lately and he was admittedly in good shape. She felt the all-too familiar butterflies in her stomach and looked down at her hands which were neatly folded in her lap.

"I'm sorry, Mary Ann," her husband said again. "I'll never drink again, I promise."

"Oh, Gilligan, I did ask you not to in the first place!"

"I know, Mary Ann, but it's just that, well, when I got there they were all so excited to see me."

"Gilligan, they see you every day! You're just making excuses!"

Gilligan looked hurt. "No, I'm not! We drank a toast, and then we drank another toast, and well, you can't drink a toast without a drink, and besides, if there's a toast it's rude not to join in."

"So how many 'toasts' did you drink, three hundred? What were you toasting, the trees? The individual coconuts on the trees?"

"We toasted _you, _Mary Ann_,_" Gilligan said, hoping that might cheer her up. It didn't.

"Don't you dare blame me for your lack of control!" Mary Ann said, her voice accidentally becoming shrill.

Gilligan winced, much like he did when the Skipper was about to whack him with his hat. Seeing him do that made Mary Ann unhappy. She didn't want him to be wary of her. She loved him.

"Gilligan, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound as sharp as that. Please come and sit down."

Gilligan moved over to the bed, looking slightly embarrassed at the fact he was only wearing a towel. He perched tentatively on the edge, ready to move at the first sign of any trouble.

"Sit down properly, Gilligan," Mary Ann said, reaching for his hand.

He scooted over and sat next to her. "I don't feel too great," he admitted. "Can I lie down?"

"All right, lie down if you must." Mary Ann pulled back the top sheet and let him crawl gratefully into bed. She watched as he settled onto his side, fumbled around under the covers and pulled out the towel. Then he gathered the covers right up to his chin and sighed deeply, burrowing down like a squirrel getting ready to hibernate.

Mary Ann twisted the discarded towel in her fingers. She didn't think she was going to get much sense out of him now- he already looked as though he were going to fall asleep any moment. "Gilligan, please stay awake," she pleaded. "We need to talk."

"Mmm," he mumbled.

Mary Ann ran her fingers through his damp hair, making it stick up in little points before it flopped back into place. "Gilligan."

"Mmm. Lis'nin'."

"Are you really?"

"Mmm." Gilligan's hand snaked out of the covers and crept towards her thigh. "You get into bed too, Mary Ann. Then I can listen better."

"Stop it, Gilligan." Mary Ann moved his hand away.

"Pancakes," he murmured.

"You're not getting any pancakes."

"Coconut cream pie?" he said, his voice already heavy with the onset of sleep.

"No."

"Banana...cream...pie?"

"No. Most certainly not."

His breathing changed, became rhythmic and regulated.

"Gilligan?"

There was no answer this time. Mary Ann shook his shoulder gently. Still no response. Gilligan's lips parted slightly and he began to snore. He was already deeply asleep. She wasn't going to get any sense out of him now, and probably not for hours to come.

Sighing, Mary Ann got up from the bed and gathered her husband's dirty, rum soaked clothes from the chair. At the door she turned and looked at him again but he was out for the count, dead to the world, probably already launching into some crazy dream where he was allowed to do anything that he wanted to do without fear of retribution.

She left the hut and closed the door behind her.


	6. Secret Baby Alert

"Oh, Ginger, I do wish I hadn't gotten so mad at Gilligan." Mary Ann bent over the wash tub, scrubbing diligently at Gilligan's jeans through the warm soapy water while Ginger stood nearby, carefully pegging freshly washed garments to the line as though she were auditioning for a role.

Ginger tossed her flame red hair so that it caught the sun. "But you did warn him, Mary Ann, and he disobeyed you. I wouldn't feel too sorry for him. Goodness knows, I don't feel sorry for the Professor- it's almost ten o'clock and he still hasn't shown his face."

"I should have known it would all go wrong," Mary Ann went on, rubbing at a particularly stubborn patch of dirt on the seat of Gilligan's pants. "Once those men get an idea into their heads, there's no stopping them. I should have learned that by now."

"Gilligan had a choice," the movie star said, examining the lines of her orange mini-dress. "He chose to go out drinking and now he's suffering for it."

"I hope this isn't a taste of things to come," Mary Ann plunged Gilligan's jeans back into the water and scrubbed harder. "He's got to realise that he can't just go off and do what he wants now. And he mustn't let the others encourage him to start rebelling against me. I'm not trying to stop him enjoying himself, but I'm his wife now, Ginger. I have my needs, too!"

Ginger watched as Mary Ann kept rubbing and scrubbing at the same patch on Gilligan's jeans. She realised that her sweet-natured friend was becoming overwrought. "Mary Ann," she smiled, gently. "You do have a right to be angry, but it really isn't the end of the world. After all, you knew what Gilligan was like, but you loved him enough to marry him, and you can't let something as silly as this upset you so much. Why, it's been less than a week since the wedding!"

"Oh, I know that, Ginger, and I do love him, I do. But if he's still going to go running every time the Skipper comes up with a bright idea, I can see this marriage turning into a three-way affair, with me in the middle of those two, constantly being a spoilsport!"

Ginger pursed her lips prettily. "Hmm. I do see your point. They've been friends for a long time. But the Skipper was thrilled when Gilligan got married. I think you're worrying too much, Mary Ann, I really do."

"Maybe I am," Mary Ann admitted. "I do worry a lot, and I don't know why. Oh, darn these stupid...!" She flung the jeans back into the tub, splashing water and soap suds everywhere.

"Mary Ann, get a hold of yourself," Ginger said, startled at her friend's outburst. "Do you know what I think? I think maybe you should go back to the hut and be with your husband. Take him some food and some clean clothes and spend the rest of the day with him. He won't be hungover forever, and you really need to work this out, otherwise you'll just end up going around in circles."

Mary Ann sighed helplessly. "He was pretty much unconscious when I left, I don't see how being there is going to make any difference right now."

Ginger sauntered over and pulled Mary Ann's arms out of the wash tub. "It will make a difference," she said gently. "Come, I'll even finish the washing for you. That's how serious I am!"

Mary Ann looked with fondness at the glamorous movie star. Ginger could be a royal pain in the butt at times, but she always came through for her friends. "All right Ginger, if you insist," she said shyly. "I think I'll do just that."

Ginger hugged the Kansas farm girl and teasingly pulled on a pigtail. "I don't think you'll regret it," she winked.

# # # #

On her way to the Skipper's hut, Mary Ann bumped into a very subdued and white-faced Roy Hinkley emerging from the supply hut with his hand pressed against his forehead. He attempted to duck back inside when he saw Mary Ann approaching, but it was too late. She strode over and purposely looked him up and down.

"You look worse than Gilligan," she remarked, bluntly.

"And I probably drank less," the Professor smiled weakly. "Remind me never again to throw caution to the wind so foolishly." He attempted a charming smile, but Mary Ann just folded her arms and shook her head.

"You'll get no sympathy from me, Professor. Same as Gilligan and the Skipper."

"Oh, dear," the Professor sighed, looking suitably shamefaced. "Although I can't say I deserve any. Well, Mary Ann, seeing as you've caught me fair and square, might I ask if you've seen Ginger?"

"She's over at the washing line, doing the laundry. I think you should go and give her a hand, seeing as she's on her own. That'll make you feel better, and you'll be making yourself useful." Mary Ann tried to keep her face stern, but inwardly she was smiling at the normally straightlaced Roy Hinkley suffering from a hangover.

The Professor looked a little worried. "She's on her own? Er...maybe I'll catch up with her a little later."

"No, Professor, maybe you should go and catch up with her now," Mary Ann said, taking his arm and steering him out towards the jungle. "I don't think you'll regret it!"

Leaving the perplexed Professor behind, and hoping she had just done Ginger a favour in return, Mary Ann went on her way to the Skipper's hut. There she found Jonas Grumby sitting at the table with some of the remnants of the party still strewn around him, although the worst of the mess had been cleared up and the rum bottles thankfully put away.

"Hi Skipper. I just need to get Gilligan's spare clothes," Mary Ann said. It struck her how lonely the big man looked, sitting there all by himself.

"Sure, Mary Ann, go ahead," the Skipper politely stood up as Mary Ann came in. "I think his jeans are folded up somewhere over here, and his T-Shirt's hanging up in the closet. Here, lemme help."

Mary Ann let the Skipper bustle around the hut looking for his little buddy's clothes. There was a heavy feeling in her heart.

"Mary Ann, I hope you don't hate me," the Skipper said suddenly, as he unhooked the hanger with Gilligan's spare T-Shirt on it. "I know it was a wrong thing to do, and I regret it, believe me, I regret it. I feel awful this morning, just awful. I never meant for the party to get so out of hand."

"Of course I don't hate you, Skipper!" Mary Ann looked shocked. "Ginger and I had a long talk about it. It's really not the worst thing that's ever happened, and we've all learned from it, I guess."

"Well, I've sure learned not to throw a party for someone in the middle of their honeymoon," the Skipper smiled ruefully. "It just seemed like such a good idea at the time!" He passed her the clothes in a small, neat pile, and Mary Ann noticed how carefully he held onto them until he was sure she had them safely in her hands.

"Skipper, there's nothing wrong with having a party," Mary Ann said, touched at the Skipper's apology, for that's what it was. "Just go a little easier on the hard stuff next time. And maybe next time invite everybody."

The Skipper blushed almost shyly. "It's a deal, Mary Ann. The next party is for everyone."

# # # #

When Mary Ann arrived back at the honeymoon hut, Gilligan was still in bed. She put the clothes and food supplies down and set about opening the windows to let some light and fresh air in.

Her husband stirred in his sleep as a shaft of light hit his face. Mary Ann watched his tousled head moving on the pillow and felt a surge of emotions in her chest. She closed the window again. Gilligan rolled over onto his stomach and buried himself further under the bedclothes.

Mary Ann went over to the bed and sat down on the edge. She reached out and stroked the back of Gilligan's head, smoothing down his dishevelled hair. "Are you awake?" she said gently.

"Mmmm," was his muffled reply.

"Move over," she said, and climbed in fully clothed.

Gilligan rolled onto his side and let Mary Ann snuggle up with her back pressed against his chest. Then he folded his arms around her and wrapped them both up in a cocoon of blankets. "'S'nice," he murmured. "How come?"

"How come I'm in bed with you?" Mary Ann smiled and snuggled in further. "Because we're married, aren't we? For better or worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, 'til death us do part. And I'm not going to let some silly old party get between us!"

Gilligan buried his face in Mary Ann's neck. "I'll never do it again, Mary Ann, I promise."

"There are plenty of things we can do that are fun," Mary Ann went on. "Butterfly hunting and cave exploring, swimming, and you can even teach me how to climb a coconut tree at last. We can do all those things, and what's more, the next day you'll remember them."

"I like those things a lot better," Gilligan admitted. He pulled her closer, if that were possible, and ran his hand lightly over her stomach.

"What are you doing?" Mary Ann asked, as he passed his hand twice over the same area.

"Nothing," he replied.

"Don't say 'nothing', you're doing something."

"Nothing, Mary Ann. I'm just snuggling."

Mary Ann rolled over to face him. His eyes were heavy and only half open. "Just snuggling, hmm?"

"Yeah." He offered a sleepy smile.

"Nothing to do with what you came into the hut shouting about last night?"

Gilligan shrugged.

"'_Mary Ann, I want to have children_'?"

Gilligan looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry I did that, Mary Ann."

Mary Ann smiled. The heat of her husband's embrace was beginning to arouse her- she felt the tingles running up her spine and pressed her face into his neck. "I dread to think what you boys were talking about to make you come running into the hut like that," she said. "Were you talking about me?"

"They were teasing me," Gilligan replied. "They said if I was having lots of s...I mean, _you-know-what_, then I'd have lots of babies. I kind of remember some of the things that happened," he added quickly, in case Mary Ann thought he was withholding information.

"Oh, Gilligan, you weren't telling them about...about our _you-know-what_, were you?"

"No, Mary Ann, I mean, not exactly. I never said your name, I just said, well, I guess I just said I liked it. I liked _you-know-what_."

Mary Ann groaned. "I don't think you need to mention my name, Gilligan. They know who you're doing _you-know-what_ with."

"I said nice things, Mary Ann. Really I did. I said I never thought I'd like _you-know-what_, never in a million years. And you know what, Mary Ann? I think I only like _you-know-what_ because I'm doing it with you. I don't think I'd like doing _you-know-what_ with anybody else."

"Gilligan, I'm very flattered, but I think you can stop saying that now, and you can certainly stop thinking about doing it with anybody else."

"Stop saying what, Mary Ann?"

"_You-know-what_."

"I do?"

"Gilligan."

"Oh, yeah, stop saying _you-know-what_." He giggled.

"Maybe you should stop saying it, and start doing it," Mary Ann hinted, pressing up against him and kissing him under the jaw. "_Show_ me just how much you like it."

"What, now?" said Gilligan, although the way her hands had begun moving over his body left him in little doubt as to her intentions.

"Now."

"Right now?" He responded to her advances by squirming and protesting, but Mary Ann was relentless.

"Right now," she affirmed, making him gasp with a well aimed caress.

# # # #

"Gilligan! Gilligan, I'm stuck! I can't move!"

"Careful, Mary Ann, careful...wrap your legs around a little tighter. Tighter, tighter, that's it...come on, Mary Ann, hold on, don't be scared, you can do it!"

"Gilligan, this was a stupid idea, a really stupid idea! Whose idea was it anyway?"

"It was your idea, Mary Ann."

"Oh- well, remind me never to have any stupid ideas ever again!"

Mary Ann was about five feet off the ground, clinging to the trunk of the coconut tree like a limpet. She was too scared to go up and too scared to come down. Gilligan stood and looked at her, pondering his next move. It was clear, even to him, that she wasn't going to be able to make it any higher, and if she did, it would only make things worse when she realised she'd have to come all the way back down again. He reached for one of her arms, but her loud wail made him pull back immediately. He reached for one of her feet, but she moaned that she was going to fall. Eventually Gilligan took the bull by the horns. He wrapped his arms around her waist and bodily pulled her off the tree, ignoring her loud protests as her arms and legs peeled away from the trunk like velcro. When her feet were at last firmly planted on the ground, she stared at the red marks on her limbs and her face fell.

"Oh, Gilligan, I'll never be able to climb a coconut tree. I think you must be half monkey."

"Watch me, Mary Ann, this is how you do it," Gilligan instructed. He gripped the trunk with his hands and almost effortlessly propelled himself upwards using the soles of his feet. Mary Ann watched him bounce his way up the tree as easily as if he were going for a stroll in the park. "Want me to get you a coconut?" he called cheerfully, having already almost reached the base of the giant palm fronds.

Mary Ann put her hand over her mouth as Gilligan shimmied right up into the leaves and all but disappeared. The great fronds shook and trembled and then he appeared again, right up at the top.

"Hey, Mary Ann!" he called, grinning and waving.

"Oh, Gilligan, please be careful!" Mary Ann pleaded, remembering the time he'd fallen from a coconut tree and damaged his nose. She stood with her eyes riveted to the top of the tree as Gilligan began hacking at coconuts with his pocket knife. In no time, four huge nuts plummeted from the sky and landed with a whump on the sand.

"Below!" bellowed Gilligan about ten seconds after the coconuts landed, but Mary Ann knew her husband well and had made sure she was already out of the way. She breathed a sigh of relief as Gilligan slid back down the tree with his pocket knife clamped between his teeth and jumped the last couple of feet to the ground. As Mary Ann clapped her hands together and came forward, he took a low, dramatic bow and returned the knife to his back pocket, winced as he realised he hadn't closed the blade, took it out, closed the blade, and put it back in his pocket as though nothing had happened.

"My brave hunter-gatherer," Mary Ann cooed, sliding her arms around his waist.

"All in a day's work, my dearest," Gilligan replied smoothly, although his backside smarted from where he'd accidentally stabbed himself.

Mary Ann raised her face and kissed his cheek. Gilligan was getting better about kissing in public, but it depended on what mood he was in. This time he grinned playfully and ducked his head.

"Mary Aaannn!"

Mary Ann laughed softly. "Oh, Gilligan. You're so romantic!"

After tree climbing, they went cloud watching. Gilligan found the perfect spot- a sheltered patch of grass at the top of the cliff with nothing to get in the way of their view of the sky, which arced over them like a shimmering sheet of blue. Gilligan and Mary Ann lay side by side with their heads together, pointing out the different things they saw in every cloud that scudded overhead.

"Skipper's belly," said Gilligan, pointing to a single puffy cloud that was more rounded on one side than the other.

Mary Ann giggled. "Skipper's hat," she said, pointing at a smaller cloud not far behind. "Maybe it fell off while he was running after you for calling him overweight." She nudged the first mate playfully.

"An elephant on a bicycle."

"A mushroom wearing a toupee."

"A chicken about to lay an egg. Boy- it must be a big egg, sure looks painful."

"That one over there looks like a man and a woman kissing." Mary Ann pointed, determined that Gilligan should see the same thing.

Gilligan squinted and frowned. "No. It's more like a man eating a sandwich."

"No, it's a man and a woman kissing, Gilligan. Look, those are their lips meeting right in the middle."

"Looks like a pastrami on rye to me. With mustard."

"Gilligan, I know a man and a woman kissing when I see one."

"You do?" Gilligan kept watching the cloud. Suddenly he gasped. "Mary Ann! Cover your eyes!" he exclaimed, raising his hand to his wife's face.

Mary Ann laughed. "Do you see it?"

"Yes," Gilligan said, "but it's rude to stare at two people kissing!"

Mary Ann laughed. "What if we were the two people kissing?"

Gilligan removed his hand from her face and leaned over her. "What, here? Now?"

"Why not? No-one can see us. If the clouds can do it, why can't we?"

"I still think it looks more like a sandwich."

"That's because you're always hungry."

Gilligan studied Mary Ann's face for a moment, then dipped his head and kissed her softly on the mouth. Mary Ann murmured with pleasure and rose towards him and he slipped his arm supportively under her shoulders. After a couple more moments went by, Gilligan slipped his other hand under her blouse and began stroking her stomach in gentle, circular motions.

Mary Ann sighed. "Gilligan, you're doing it again," she whispered.

"Don't you like it?" he asked, his breath whisking over her lips.

"I like it, but I think you're doing it for a reason."

Gilligan smiled. "I like your stomach. It's nice and soft and round."

"I hope you're not saying I'm fat."

"No, Mary Ann. Just nice and soft and round." His hand kept moving in lazy circles over her belly, and suddenly Mary Ann knew exactly what he was doing.

"Gilligan, are you really hoping I'll get pregnant?" she asked gently, putting her hand on his.

Gilligan blushed. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "The Professor said that _you-know-what _makes babies, and we've been doing lots of _you-know-what_."

Mary Ann blushed too. "Yes, we have," she admitted shyly.

"So, I was just thinking, it would be nice if we made a baby." Gilligan looked almost apologetic. "But if it did happen, I'd be scared."

"Oh, Gilligan, I'd be scared too," Mary Ann admitted. "But it would be nice, wouldn't it? If we had a baby. Our baby, yours and mine."

Gilligan swallowed. "I've never had a baby, Mary Ann. I don't think I'd know what to do."

"I've never had a baby either, Gilligan, and I'd be the one carrying it for nine months!"

Gilligan went pale. "You couldn't carry a baby for nine months, Mary Ann. You'd have to put it down sometimes, or let me carry it!"

"No, Gilligan," Mary Ann laughed at the way Gilligan was always misunderstanding things. "I meant I'd be carrying it in my stomach for nine months. It takes nine months for a baby to grow full sized before it's born."

Gilligan grew wide eyed. "How do you know so much about babies?" he asked.

"I'm a woman, Gilligan. It's my job to know."

"Oh." Gilligan thought about this. "So how come I had to hear it from Skipper and the Professor?"

"You didn't have to hear it from Skipper and the Professor," Mary Ann smiled. "I would have spoken to you about it eventually. I was just enjoying our honeymoon, and, um..._you-know-what_, before we broached the serious subject of babies. Little did I know it was going to become the subject of drunken discussion at a bachelor party for someone who wasn't even a bachelor anymore!"

Gilligan went an even deeper shade of red. "Mary Ann, do you have to keep reminding me?"

Mary Ann nestled into the grass and pulled him down on top of her. "I'm sorry, Gilligan. I promise not to keep reminding you." She kissed him again, slowly and passionately. "Imagine if we were brave enough to do it outdoors," she smiled coyly when the kiss finally ended.

"Do what outdoors?" Gilligan raised his eyebrows.

"_You-know-what_." Mary Ann giggled.

Gilligan gasped, then shook his head mock-reproachfully. "Mary Ann! What you said!"

"I know, aren't I naughty? But imagine it, Gilligan- under a full moon, in the lush tropical jungle..."

"Yeah, with the lush tropical bugs and the lush tropical gorillas and the lush tropical headhunters," Gilligan finished.

"I suppose you're right," Mary Ann sighed, "but still. Imagine it!"

After cloud-watching, they went exploring. Gilligan showed Mary Ann a set of smallish caves that only he knew about. Then he showed her some steam vents from the volcano that sent up small geysers now and again. As they were standing there, one of them hissed and spluttered and spat a little jet of steam into the air, and Mary Ann squealed and grabbed hold of Gilligan's T-Shirt and hid behind him. After the steam vents, Gilligan's stomach began growling so they headed back in the direction of their hut for lunch. On the way, they passed the cave where Gilligan would sometimes go and live when he wanted to be a Lone Wolf.

"Gilligan, did you hear something?" Mary Ann said, clutching his arm.

Gilligan's stomach growled again. "You mean that?" he asked.

"No, but it was like that."

"Maybe it was yours."

"No- it wasn't mine. Ssh...maybe we'll hear it again."

They fell silent and listened, and sure enough there was a noise that sounded a bit like Gilligan's stomach rumbling, but not quite.

"It sounds like it's coming from inside your cave!" Mary Ann whispered, scooting to a safe spot behind her husband.

Gilligan blinked. "Don't hide behind me, Mary Ann!"

"Why not?"

"Because then I can't hide behind you!"

"Oh, Gilligan. Wait! There it is again!"

They both listened intently. It sounded like a low rasping growl emanating from the small cave opening.

"Maybe it's that giant spider," Gilligan whispered. "Or a cave monster!"

Mary Ann put her hand on Gilligan's arm. "It sounds like snoring to me," she said quietly.

"So, it's a snoring cave monster!"

"I don't know, it sounds familiar. Listen."

Again they both heard the low rumbling sound. This time though, it was punctuated by a loud cry of "Lovey! I must protest my innocence!" right in the middle.

"That's Mr. Howell's voice!" Mary Ann exclaimed.

"Oh, my Gosh!" Gilligan cried. "The cave monster ate Mr. Howell!"

"No, Gilligan- I think Mr. Howell's in the cave!" Mary Ann let go of Gilligan and darted forward.

"Mary Ann, wait. I'll go first," said Gilligan, holding her back. "I'm braver."

"All right, Gilligan," Mary Ann smiled, noticing her husband's hands shaking. "But be careful!"

Gilligan got down on his hands and knees and crawled towards the small cave opening. "Mr. Howell?" he called tentatively. "Mr. Howell, are you in there?" Cautiously he approached the hole and dared to poke his head through. "Mr. Howell? It's me, Gilligan. Are you in there?"

"Oh, Lovey," came the voice of Thurston Howell III through the gloom, "will you ever forgive me for my misdemeanours?"

"Mr. Howell!" Gilligan crawled right into the cave and stopped. There was the millionaire, curled up in the corner under a blanket and clutching his beloved teddy. He was fast asleep.

Unwilling to wake the man up, Gilligan backed out of the cave and got to his feet. He told Mary Ann what he'd seen.

Mary Ann put her hand over her mouth and giggled. "It sounds like Mr. Howell's still in the doghouse," she whispered. "What do you think we should do?"

"I think we should leave him," Gilligan decided. "I'm probably the last person he wants to see right now."

"I agree," said Mary Ann. "I think we should just pretend we were never here in the first place!"

"I agree too," Gilligan grinned. "We'll only get ourselves mixed up in all kinds of trouble if we wake him."

"Come on," said Mary Ann, pulling her husband by the shirt. "Let's get out of here before he wakes up by himself!"

"I agree, Mary Ann, I agree!" Laughing, Gilligan ran off through the trees with Mary Ann following. Halfway down the path, Gilligan stopped and crouched down and Mary Ann climbed up onto his back, and Gilligan ran all the way back to their honeymoon hut with Mary Ann clinging to him and laughing like she didn't have a care in the world.


	7. And The Rest

_Some Skipper/Gilligan shenanigans this time, and then everyone (except Thurston, who's still hiding from Lovey) gets in on the act._

_To everyone who's still reading, thank you, and thanks so much for the positive feedback. Courts, thanks for the GI marathons._

# # # #

Gilligan and the Skipper were out collecting fruit.

Mary Ann, still feeling a little guilty about being mad at Gilligan, had mentioned to him that the Skipper had been looking a bit lonely of late, so Gilligan decided to drop by the hut that morning to say hello. When he arrived he found himself enveloped in yet another Jonas Grumby bearhug that almost cracked his ribcage. "Oh, little buddy, it's so good to see you," the big man declared.

Gilligan was beginning to find the attention a little excessive and struggled feebly in the Skipper's bone crushing embrace. "Skipp-_errrr_," he whined. "Take it easy, I'm delicate."

"It's so quiet without you here," Skipper said, hugging his friend even tighter._ "_I can't get to sleep at night without the non-stop drone of your voice asking me about everything from vampire bats to little green men from Mars."

"That's funny," Gilligan replied cheerfully. "Mary Ann has the same problem in reverse."

The Skipper grinned and clapped Gilligan robustly on both shoulders_. _"It's wonderful that you're married, Gilligan, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart. I feel so proud of you and how you've grown lately. But gee, I know I'm gonna miss some of the old stuff we used to do together."

"We don't have to stop doing stuff together, Skipper," Gilligan replied. "The only thing that's changed is that we're not living in the same hut any more."

"I know, little buddy, and I'm sorry for all the times I yelled at you while you were here. It sure is empty without you bumping into me and knocking things over. Why, that lamp hasn't been broken in over a week!"

Gilligan saw the loneliness in the Skipper's eyes and felt sad. "Maybe you could build a dummy to keep you company," he suggested. "Like the ones we used to scare off Sam- before we knew he was just a parrot."

"Oh Gilligan, what would I want with a fake dummy when I've got the real thing right here?" the Skipper smiled, giving the first mate a fond shake.

"Thanks!" Gilligan replied. "I think."

# # # #

The Skipper held the sack open while Gilligan chopped at the huge bunch of ripening bananas. "Careful with that knife, Gilligan," he said, watching his little buddy closely.

"I'm not doing it any differently, Skipper," Gilligan replied, hacking and slashing at the sinewy plant.

"I know, that's why I'm worried. You always look like you're duelling to the death."

Gilligan grinned at that. "Guess Mr. Howell taught me how to fence a little too well, huh, Skipper."

"But Gilligan, it's a bunch of bananas, not your mortal enemy. You don't have to be so aggressive."

Gilligan hacked his way through the remainder of the stalk and the enormous bunch of bananas fell down into the waiting sack. "Why are you so worried about me all of a sudden, Skipper?" he asked curiously, remembering to fold the knife this time before slipping into his back pocket.

The Skipper shook the sack to settle the bananas. "I'm always worried about you, Gilligan. The moment you open your eyes in the morning I begin worrying. Whether you'll fall off a cliff, or drown in the lagoon, or land on my head from the top of a tree. In fact, I never stop worrying about you. Worrying about you is like a full-time job without pay."

"You get paid in fruit," Gilligan countered, stepping away from the banana plant.

"Well, yes, I guess so," the Skipper conceded.

"And fish."

"Okay. And fish."

"And lobsters. I know you like lobsters. Even the lobsters know you like lobsters. And fresh water. You'd be nowhere without that."

"Yes, all right, Gilligan," the Skipper sighed loudly. "I'll admit you have your uses."

"Besides," Gilligan went on, striding ahead through the thick foliage, "one day you might even be an uncle."

The Skipper's breath caught in his throat. "An uncle?"

"Yeah. When me and Mary Ann have our baby."

"Gilligan!" the Skipper stopped dead in his tracks and the sack fell to the ground. "Mary Ann's not...she's not...she's not already?"

Gilligan realised he wasn't being followed any more and turned around. "She's not already what?"

"Gilligan, don't start. I mean, she's not...you know, _already_?"

"Skipper!" Gilligan said abruptly. "Say what you mean! And mean what you say." He frowned to himself. "Or something."

The Skipper shook his head to get rid of the confusion. "All right, Gilligan. What I meant was," he looked around furtively to make sure no-one was hiding in the bushes, "is Mary Ann _pregnant _already?"

"Is Mary Ann pregnant?" Gilligan repeated loudly, then covered his own mouth with his hand as Skipper began waving his hands and shushing. "Mmm," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Mmm, mmm. Mmm!"

Skipper rolled his eyes skyward. "Gilligan, why does everything have to be so _difficult_?" he admonished, tugging the first mate's hand away from his face. "Just answer my question! Is Mary Ann pregnant already? It's important!"

"No. She. Isn't!" Gilligan said, emphasising each word on purpose.

The Skipper sighed. "_Thank_ you, Gilligan. Sometimes I think it would be easier to squeeze blood out of a stone than to get sensible information out of you."

"You could squeeze blood out of a bloodstone," Gilligan said. "Or a blood orange. Eyuck. Why would anyone want an orange with blood in it?"

"Gilligan, let's just keep fruit picking. All I wanted to know was whether Mary Ann was already expecting or not."

"Expecting?" Gilligan stopped, and this time it was the Skipper who bumped into him. "Expecting what?"

"Doop!" the Skipper cried. "A baby, Gilligan! _Expecting a baby_!" He shouted so loudly that a bird in a nearby tree squawked and flew off. He sighed and covered his face with both hands. "Gilligan. Please don't try my patience."

Gilligan looked insulted. "I wasn't gonna try your patience, Skipper. I've got my own patience. And, uh..." he took a step backward as the Skipper advanced towards him, "...I think my patience is working a lot better than yours."

The Skipper pasted on his most indulgent smile. "Gilligan. I'm going to count to ten, and by ten I want you to be far enough away so that I can't hit you."

Gilligan bristled. "It's not my fault you can't ask a simple..."

"Ten!" said the Skipper, and smacked Gilligan with his cap.

Gilligan rubbed his head. "Is this what you meant by 'all the things we used to do together'?" he muttered, although there was a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

The Skipper smiled back, replaced his hat and waggled his fingers. "That's _exactly _what I meant, little buddy."

The next tree they visited was a tall, spindly papaya tree with the ripe orange fruits hanging invitingly from the top. Gilligan bent to pick up the long bamboo pole that was ready and waiting on the ground nearby. Seeing Gilligan about to stand up and turn around without looking behind him, the Skipper took evasive action. He took three large steps out of the way, and the first papaya that Gilligan knocked free sailed through the air and hit him squarely on top of the head, splitting on impact and covering his captain's hat with mushy pulp and clumps of papaya seed. Immediately, a swarm of small fruitflies appeared from nowhere and started feasting on the nectar.

"Sorry, Skipper, I'll try to be more careful," said Gilligan, his ears going pink at the sight of the Skipper standing there with orange pulp dripping down his face. He raised the pole and started waving it at the tree no more carefully than before, and the second papaya he knocked free disappeared into the undergrowth. "I meant to bring the net," he said, scurrying after it into the bushes, "but I left it at the hut. Our hut, I mean. Mine and Mary Ann's. We were gonna go butterfly hunting, but we never got around to it." He emerged from the undergrowth with a triumphant grin and the papaya held aloft like a trophy.

The Skipper was busy wiping sticky pulp off his face with a juice soaked handkerchief. The fruitflies hovered over his head like a small black cloud. "Well, you can tell Mary Ann from me that keeping you inside that hut all day is probably the best idea she ever had," he muttered.

Gilligan put the papaya into the sack and went back for another. He swung the pole in a wide arc, narrowly missing the Skipper's head. "But I thought you wanted to spend the day together, Skipper."

The Skipper ducked and stepped nimbly aside. "I don't know what I was thinking, Gilligan. I guess I missed you so much, I forgot what a walking disaster you are."

Gilligan smacked another papaya off the tree and fetched it out of the foliage. "You missed me that much? Gee, thanks, Skipper. It feels kinda nice to be missed."

"I wish you'd try and miss me with that pole," the Skipper grumbled.

"Sorry about that, Skipper." Gilligan lowered the pole and moved around to the other side of the tree where he carried on whacking at the fruit.

"Yeah, well, don't go around telling everyone how much I missed you." The Skipper swatted flies away from his face and hoped it distracted Gilligan away from his sudden embarrassment. "Especially Mary Ann. I don't want her thinking I'm some kind of rival for your affections or anything." At that, he looked even more embarrassed. "I mean, I'm just your friend. She's your wife."

Gilligan returned with the last of the papayas and put it into the sack. He peered intently at the Skipper, although his studious squint was partly caused by the bright morning sun in his eyes. "Think you'll ever get married, Skipper?" he asked.

The Skipper was used to Gilligan's random questions. He picked up the sack and followed the skinny first mate out of the clearing and back onto the jungle path. "I'd certainly like to think so, but who exactly would I get married to, Gilligan? Even if I wanted to?" he asked.

"Oh. Well, not Mary Ann of course, 'cause she's married to me. And not Mrs. Howell 'cause she's married to Mr. Howell. And not Ginger either, because she likes men with an extremely high I.Q. Whatever an I.Q is. What's an I.Q, Skipper?"

"Something you don't have to worry about, Gilligan."

"Hm, guess it's not important, then. Anyway, Skipper, it could still happen. We could still get rescued one day, or maybe some nice lady will wash up in the lagoon. After all, it's happened before."

"As long as she washes up before I'm washed up," the Skipper muttered.

"Don't say that, Skipper!" Gilligan looked anxiously at his big buddy.

"Well, I'm not getting any younger, Gilligan. I mean, face it. Look at the Professor. He's smart and handsome and charming and educated. And you. You're young and athletic and..." the Skipper paused, scrutinising Gilligan's face carefully, the eager, goofy grin, the bobbing Adam's apple in the skinny neck and the weatherbeaten old hat perched on the back of his head. "Well, I'm sure Mary Ann sees something in you. But look at me. I'm just a big, slightly overweight ex-Navy has-been."

"_Slightly_ overweight?" Gilligan scoffed, oblivious to the Skipper's thunderous expression. He pointed at the sack full of fruit. "Skipper, these bananas would last me a week. They wouldn't even last you 'til lunch."

"Well, thanks for the reassurance!" the Skipper yelled.

"And you are ex-Navy," Gilligan confirmed. "But then again, so am I, so you're in good company there."

"I wouldn't exactly put it that way," the Skipper grouched.

"There's always Gladys, and she's a Beauty Queen," Gilligan grinned.

"Gilligan, she's an _ape_!" the Skipper roared. "Are you saying I'm only good enough to marry an _ape_?"

"Shh," Gilligan said, making hushing motions with his hands. "She can hear real well."

"Well then, Gladys, hear this. I am not marrying an ape!" the Skipper shouted, and from somewhere in the middle of the vegetation behind him, a mango came flying out of the sky and bounced off the back of his head.

"Told ya," said Gilligan. "Those Beauty Queens are touchy."

"Well, I'm so sorry I hurt her feelings," the Skipper retorted sarcastically, rubbing the back of his head.

"Don't worry, Skipper," Gilligan said. "I'm sure you'll find someone to marry you one day. Even if we have to wait twenty years for her to wash ashore."

"Thanks, Gilligan," the Skipper sighed, hefting the sack of fruit onto his shoulders. "In twenty years I'll have forgotten what an eligible woman looks like."

"In twenty years _I'll_ have forgotten what an eligible woman looks like," Gilligan said sagely. He walked alongside the Skipper for a few moments, then peered up at his big buddy with an inquisitive frown. "What's an eligible woman?"

The Skipper laid his big arm affectionately around his little buddy's shoulders. "Something else you don't have to worry about, Gilligan!"

Gilligan grinned and returned the Skipper's one-armed hug. "Never forget, Skipper," he said. "'In Our Darkest Hour When All Seems Lost, Somewhere in the Fearsome Black of Night, Let Us Search for That Shining Star Which Will Guide Us Out of Our Desolation'. Ginger's movie, remember?"

"Little buddy, I thank you for your kind thoughtfulness, but mentioning Ginger just makes me think of women even more."

They carried on in companionable silence for a little while, but Gilligan was never one to let a silence go unspoiled. "Mary Ann wants a girl," he said by the by.

"I beg pardon?" the Skipper said, snapping out of a hula girl reverie.

"When we have our baby. Mary Ann wants a girl. I'd kinda like a boy. Can you tell, Skipper? What a baby's going to be before it's even born?"

"Well, I'm sure I'm not the person to ask about that," the Skipper said, feeling a bit warm under the collar. "But some folks think if you eat certain foods before..." he blushed deeply now, "...before _conception_, it helps to determine what sex the baby is."

"I'm not supposed to say that word any more," Gilligan said, shyly.

"Gilligan, sex in this context means gender. The gender of the baby, whether it's male or female."

"Oh." Gilligan pondered awhile. "And what's conception?"

The Skipper took a deep breath and held it for a moment. Then he let it out in a gusty sigh. "Gilligan, how can you be married, and, and...be having _marital relations,_ without knowing _anything_ about what it leads to?"

"Why are you talking about our relations?" Gilligan looked truly puzzled now. "They don't even know where we are! They don't even know if we're still alive! They sure don't know that Mary Ann and me are married." His face fell.

"Marital relations means sex, Gilligan." The Skipper rolled his eyes. "I can see I'm going to have to spell _everything_ out from now on."

"Is that the sex I can say, or the sex I can't say?"

"That's the sex you can't say. Although I don't know why you can't say it."

"Because Mary Ann doesn't want me to, because of the way I shouted about it when I was drunk."

"But Mary Ann isn't here now, Gilligan, and it would make it a lot easier for me if we could just say it so that we could avoid confusion."

"Okay," said Gilligan. "Sex."

The Skipper swatted the first mate with his cap. "Not out of nowhere. Only if it comes up in the conversation."

"If what comes up in the conversation?" As if by magic, Lovey Howell appeared on the path that intersected theirs as they made their way toward the huts.

"Sex," said Gilligan assertively.

"Good heavens!" said Lovey. "I certainly wasn't expecting that." She peered at the first mate through her lorgnette. "Although these days..."

"Mrs. Howell, I was just telling Skipper that when we have our baby, Mary Ann wants a girl, but I want a boy." Gilligan's words began pouring out in an excited rush. "And Skipper said our relations can tell by eating certain foods what sex the baby is going to be, which means whether it's going to be a boy or a girl, and then I asked him what conception was and he hit me with his hat."

"Well that wasn't very helpful, Captain!" Mrs. Howell tutted. "Come, Gilligan, I think you need some motherly advice." With that she held her arm out for Gilligan to take, and the Skipper gave another world weary sigh and rolled his eyes as he watched his little buddy and the rich socialite wander away down the path chattering away to each other as he tagged along behind with the full sack of fruit weighing heavily on his shoulders.

When they arrived back at the huts, they found the girls were busy preparing lunch. Mary Ann came running over to Gilligan and prised him away from the millionaire's wife for a hug and a kiss, which made him giggle and squirm in very feeble protest.

"Wiggly Gilligan," the farm girl laughed, trying to tickle him at the same time. "Did you have a nice morning?"

"Yeah, it was swell, Mary Ann. We got lots of fruit. Bananas, and papayas, and mangoes, and pineapples and guess what, I know what conception is, too."

"Oh, that's lovely, Gilligan! I need bananas for the pie I'm making, and the papayas and mangoes will go nicely with the seafood platter, and the conception..." Mary Ann stopped and blinked her big brown eyes at the grinning first mate. "Conception? Did you say conception, Gilligan?"

"Uh-huh. Conception is when a man plants a seed in his wife's garden." Gilligan beamed at Mary Ann. He was inordinately proud of his new found knowledge. In the background Ginger smirked and tittered behind her hand.

Mary Ann stared at Gilligan, then turned and stared at Mrs. Howell. Mrs. Howell pretended to be very busy inspecting a nearby hibiscus bush. "_Lovely_ flowers," she declared, peering at the blooms through her lorgnette.

"Mrs. Howell!" Mary Ann looked dismayed. She looked around the small group. Ginger was still trying unsuccessfully to stop laughing. "Ginger!" The Skipper was peeling a banana and trying to look as though he hadn't heard a thing. "Skipper!" The Professor emerged from the supply hut and crossed the clearing, his nose stuck in a book. "Professor!"

The Professor looked up, confused. "What?"

Mary Ann stamped her foot. "The only one missing is Mr. Howell."

"Thurston Howell the Third and I are still not speaking," Mrs. Howell said, her nose in the air. "He still hasn't issued me with a full apology for his behaviour at that...that party. _Comme on fait son lit, on se couche."_

"Huh?" said Gilligan.

"He made his bed, now he must lie on it."

"Why didn't you say that in the first place?"

"I was speaking French, dear boy. The language of love."

"Mrs. Howell," Mary Ann tried again. "I don't think you should have told Gilligan...what you told him."

"Why ever not? The poor boy's education is tremendously lacking in some...well, in _most_ areas. Why only a week ago he thought the stork still brought the babies, didn't you, Gilligan?" Mrs. Howell went over to the first mate and pinched his cheek fondly. "Look at his clueless little face," she cooed.

"His face may be clueless but it sounds as though the rest of him is in perfect working order," Ginger remarked softly, but not so softly that the Professor, who was now sitting with his book at the table, couldn't hear what she'd said. Roy Hinkley looked up, accidentally caught Ginger's eye, and looked away quickly when she winked at him. After a moment he chanced a look back, and the movie star smiled girlishly and crinkled her nose at him. He looked away again and stared at the open pages of his book. The lines began to blur together. His neck prickled. He swallowed and felt his hands begin to shake, so he sat on them._ One of these days I'm going to find a proper diagnosis for this ailment, _he told himself firmly._ One of these days..._

Mary Ann sighed and raised her voice to gain everyone's attention. "Everybody, please listen to me. I really don't want my personal life, Gilligan's personal life, and the ins and...I mean, the _private details _of our marriage being discussed willy-nilly all over the island as if it were the Daily News."

"Sadly, it's what passes for Daily News around here," Mrs. Howell muttered.

"Don't forget Friendly Henry," Gilligan said helpfully, referring to the radio announcer. "He tells us the news."

"I'm surprised Friendly Henry _hasn't_ announced it," Mary Ann declared. "Or that 'The Ongoing Saga Of Gilligan and Mary Ann's Sex Life' hasn't turned up on an episode of Old Dr. Young!"

A piece of banana dropped out of the Skipper's mouth as he stood agape at the table.

"Mary Ann!" said Gilligan, his eyes widening.

"I mean it!" Mary Ann said, tossing her bouncing pigtails. "If Gilligan and I want to discuss children, we'll do it with each other, not with the whole world and his wife!" At the word 'wife', Mary Ann looked pointedly at Mrs. Howell, who sniffed and looked away as though she had nothing to do with the discussion. "Isn't that right, Gilligan?"

Gilligan could tell he'd be in hot water if he didn't respond properly. He nodded mutely.

"Is that a yes or a no, Gilligan?"

Unsure of the correct response, Gilligan's head movements became erratic. He nodded, then shook his head, then repeated the process.

"Oh, do stop doing that, Gilligan, you're making me dizzy," Mrs. Howell complained. "Just say 'yes' and get it over with."

"Mrs. Howell, please!" said Mary Ann. She breathed deeply. "Gilligan, back me up, won't you? Please say you don't want our private life talked about as if it were everyone's concern."

"Mary Ann's right!" Gilligan said, deciding to take his cue from the determined look on his wife's face. "Our private life is...is _private_!" He lifted his chin and made a valiant attempt at staring everyone down.

"Oh, my!" breathed Ginger, impressed. "Is this a new Gilligan I see before me? Forceful, headstrong, passionate..." she edged closer to the Professor and every emphatic word she spoke sent a breath of warm air down the back of his collar, delighting her when she saw the involuntary goosebumps that appeared along his forearms in response.

"Although I still don't know what are the right foods to eat if you want the baby to be a girl or a boy," Gilligan added quickly, his words rushing out before Mary Ann could stop him.

The Professor got to his feet quickly, grateful for the opportunity to help, but also to escape the warm and very distracting sensations of Ginger's breath on his neck. "Well, Gilligan," he said, clearing his throat in preparation for a lecture, "It's all to do with the lifespan of the spermatozoa. Male spermatozoa is known to be faster, but also smaller and weaker than the female spermatozoa. Female spermatozoa on the other hand is larger, more passive, stronger and can live longer than the male spermatozoa. Male spermatozoa cannot live for very long in an acidic environment whereas female spermatozoa can. So in order to increase your chances of having a girl, you must increase the acidity levels of the..." as though coming out of a trance, the Professor suddenly noticed five pairs of eyes all staring at him as though he'd grown two heads. He coughed loudly and sat down again. "Forgive my intrusion," he muttered.

"Professor!" Ginger uttered, her hand over her mouth. "What you _said_!"

"What's spermatozoa?" asked Gilligan, before Mary Ann wrenched him away from the group with a loud "Hmph!" and pulled him away up the path towards their honeymoon hut before anybody else could stop them.


	8. GILLIgaN Lovs MaRy aNN

Mary Ann dragged Gilligan half way up the path before the first mate began pulling back.

"Mary Ann, what about lunch?" he asked, his face a picture of worry.

Mary Ann stopped in her tracks. She let go of Gilligan's sleeve and turned round to look at him, her own face a picture of despair. "Oh, Gilligan." she sighed. "I've done it again, haven't I?"

Gilligan tilted his head to one side, picked at his fingers. "Done what?"

"Over reacted. Just the thing I said I wouldn't do." Mary Ann's shoulders slumped. "I guess they can't help being interested in our marriage. It's the biggest event that's ever happened here!"

Gilligan shuffled from foot to foot. "Besides the time we all thought we were gonna get blown up and killed."

"Yes," Mary Ann agreed. "That was quite serious."

"And the time the volcano almost erupted. And every time we nearly get headhunted. And that time I nearly got shot!" Gilligan shuddered at the memory of Kincaid and his high powered rifle.

"No, Gilligan- we promised we'd never talk about him again!" Mary Ann rushed forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her husband's middle, holding him close. "He's long gone. He's where he deserves to be- locked up in an institution." The emotions trembled through Mary Ann and she buried her face in Gilligan's chest. "If I ever saw that man again, I'd tear him limb from limb with my bare hands."

"I'm sorry, Mary Ann," Gilligan said gently, returning Mary Ann's embrace and stroking her hair. "I won't ever mention him again. I was just trying to tell you that bigger, worser things have happened here. Us getting married is a good thing. That's why everyone's so interested. They're happy for us."

Mary Ann raised her face. Gilligan could be surprisingly perceptive. "You're right," she said, smiling through her anxiety. "They're happy for us, and they want the best for us. I guess _I'd_ be interested if Ginger and the Professor got married. Wouldn't I?"

Gilligan grinned. "Sure you would. I know you girls. You'd be talking about it all day and all night." He looked pleased with himself for making such a worldly statement.

"You're right, we would." Mary Ann giggled. "Oh, I'm so silly sometimes. Come on, I'd better get back there and finish fixing lunch, or it'll be more of Ginger's jelly sand dabs and there'll be a mutiny!"

# # # #

The castaways all sat round the table, which was piled high with platters of juicy, ripe fruits, freshly grilled fish and seafood, and warm, savoury vegetables. At the head of the table sat the Skipper, Jonas Grumby. On one side of the table sat Gilligan, Mary Ann and Ginger, and on the other side sat the Professor and the reunited Howells. Thurston had finally returned to camp when he became hungry, and was contrite enough and apologetic enough so that Mrs. Howell felt justified and the millionaire felt himself vindicated. It was an act the Howells had been performing for years and the other castaways were more than used to the stalemates and stand offs. These little demonstrations were usually followed by declarations of love and devotion in which Thurston hopped up and down with glee like a little boy and Lovey patted his face and boosted his ego back to its normal gargantuan proportions. After the rituals of making 'happy talk' were over, the Howells would resume their usual behaviour and all the castaways were left waiting for the inevitable moment when the entire process started all over again.

"Everybody," Mary Ann said, trying to make herself heard over the clank and clatter of cups and cutlery and the chatter of six other people all talking at once. "Everybody, please listen!" She tapped the side of her bamboo cup with her fork, but still no-one noticed except Gilligan. He watched with mild interest as Mary Ann tapped her cup a couple more times, then he picked up his own fork and hit his own cup so hard it tipped over and spilled pineapple juice all over the table.

"Mary Ann wants to talk!" he announced loudly.

"Gilligan!" the Skipper grumbled. "How old are you?"

Gilligan counted on his fingers. "Twenty six," he said. Then frowned. "Twenty seven?"

The Skipper sighed. "Gilligan, it was a rhetorical question."

"Oh," said Gilligan. "What's a rhetorical question?"

"It's a question that doesn't require an answer," the Skipper said, trying to keep calm.

"But you just answered me," the first mate replied, looking puzzled.

"Gilligan, _my_ question was rhetorical. Yours was just plain _dumb_!"

"Everybody!" Mary Ann tried again while the Skipper and Gilligan were busy glaring at each other and Ginger was left to mop up the spilled pineapple juice that was headed her way. "Please, can I say something?" She cleared her throat as all eyes turned towards her. "I'd just like to say that I'm sorry for overreacting to everyone's interest in our marriage. From now on I'm not going to be upset if anyone wants to ask us about whether we want to have a baby or not. Because..." she looked at Gilligan with love in her eyes, "...we _do _want to have a baby. Don't we, Gilligan?"

All eyes turned immediately to Gilligan. The first mate went as red as his own shirt as he glanced furtively from one castaway to the other. "Uh-huh," he mumbled. "We, um..." he pointed at Mary Ann and then at himself. "Baby. Yeah."

"Magnifico!" shouted Mr. Howell, getting to his feet with his bamboo cup raised. "A toast, to Gilligan and Mary Ann and all their inevitable and delightful progeny!"

"What's..." began Gilligan, but he was drowned out by a sudden chorus of 'hip hip hoorahs' from everyone around the table.

# # # #

"Gilligan," Mary Ann giggled, "Gilligan, what are you doing? Not that I'm complaining," she added quickly.

They had come back to their honeymoon hut after lunch. Mary Ann had barely made it through the door before Gilligan pulled her into his arms and began kissing her fervently, his lips moving rapidly over her face and throat, his arms wound tight around her.

"Zinc," said Gilligan, his face buried in Mary Ann's neck.

"Zinc? Gilligan, please speak English if you're going to seduce me, or I'll get confused!"

"It's the zinc," Gilligan grinned, pulling back to look at her, his face slightly pink and his eyes slightly glassy. "The Professor says I should eat lots of zinc. You get it from oysters, and I just ate about twenty."

"Oh, and what does zinc do, Casanova?" Mary Ann shivered as his lips descended to her neck again.

"Zinc makes spermatozoa big and strong," Gilligan replied.

"Oh, it does, does it?" Mary Ann smiled. "Is that what the Professor told you?"

"Uh-huh." Gilligan's hands found their way under Mary Ann's blouse.

Mary Ann wriggled. Gilligan's touch was so light and gentle that it tickled her. "I may have to have words with Professor Roy Hinkley," she said, trying to sound serious but failing. "Although, I guess it could be worse- the Skipper could still be dropping clumsy hints about the birds and the bees."

"Bzzzzzzzzzz," murmured Gilligan, his mouth vibrating against Mary Ann's skin, making her squeal. "I'm a bee," he grinned, his eyes full of mischief. "And you know what bees like best?"

"What do bees like best?" Mary Ann giggled, then squealed again even louder as Gilligan crouched down, hooked his arm around her legs and lifted her right up into the air.

"Honey," Gilligan grinned, and carried his laughing, wriggling wife to bed.

# # # #

"Well!" Mary Ann declared, flopping exhaustedly onto Gilligan's chest. "If _that _didn't make a baby, I don't know what will!"

Gilligan, flat on his back and breathing hard, gathered his wife into his arms and held her close. "If that's what twenty oysters does, imagine if I ate thirty?"

"Don't you dare!" Mary Ann gasped. "I don't think I could keep up with you!"

Gilligan kissed the top of Mary Ann's head. "It's crazy, isn't it?" he said. "I'd never in a million years have guessed I'd be married and doing this kind of stuff. Skinny Mulligan would fall over dead if he saw me now." Gilligan looked up at the palm frond ceiling and thought about his childhood friend. "I wonder if Skinny ever got married," he mused. "I wonder _who_ he would have married. Gee, I sure wish we could have been at each others' weddings."

"I wish my family could see me married," Mary Ann agreed. "They'd be so proud of you, Gilligan."

"I know I'd like them too, Mary Ann," the first mate replied. "And I think I'd like living on a farm. Growing all that wheat and milking cows and stuff. Boy, I haven't had real milk for so long, it'd probably make me sick if I drank it now."

Mary Ann rested her cheek on Gilligan's chest. His skin was hot and damp, his heart beat steadily in her ear. "How are we going to bring up children on this island, Gilligan?" she said in a small, anxious voice.

"Don't worry, Mary Ann," Gilligan said gently. "The natives have children all the time. They manage."

"But we're not natives, Gilligan. And what about when they need to go to school?"

"Well, if we're not rescued by then, the Professor can teach them."

"Oh, Gilligan, stop answering my questions so infuriatingly logically."

"Why? Were they rhetorical questions?"

"No. Well, maybe. I guess I was just thinking aloud. I'm worrying about our children's futures before they're even born."

Gilligan nuzzled his face into Mary Ann's hair. "With you as their mother, our children will be the luckiest kids in the world," he smiled.

"Oh, Gilligan. I wish I had as much faith in me as you do."

Gilligan wrapped his arms even closer around Mary Ann and continued staring up at the ceiling. He didn't want to tell her how scared he felt too. How the thought of babies made his insides turn to jelly. How even the fact that he was married still amazed him every day. How he kept expecting to wake up in the hut he used to share with Skipper. How he panicked inwardly every time he took his clothes off and got into bed with her and gazed with awestruck wonder at her naked form. How he still couldn't believe a woman would want him _that way_, and how he fully expected to be told he was a total failure, but how he knew deep down that Mary Ann loved him and would never be so cruel. How Mary Ann's love was all he needed and how he had to pinch himself constantly to make sure he wasn't dreaming. How he wished his old friends and all the girls who had ever snubbed him could see him now.

Well, maybe not _right now_...

Gilligan smiled as his beautiful, naked wife sighed happily in his arms. _If only you knew, Mary Ann, _he thought silently. _I have more faith in you than I'll ever have in myself._

# # # #

"Gilligan, what are you doing?" Mary Ann fidgeted impatiently as Gilligan worked at something with his pocket knife round the side of the huge tree. He wouldn't let her look, and shooed her away every time she drew near.

"Nearly done," he told her, his tongue between his lips. He gouged relentlessly into the tree, a pile of bark and splinters on the ground around his feet. Finally he stood back, admired his handiwork, and put his hand out towards Mary Ann. "There! Finished," he announced.

Mary Ann jumped forward eagerly. "Let me see," she cried, breathlessly.

On the side of the tree, Gilligan had meticulously carved a huge heart. He had pared the perimeter of the heart right down to the main trunk which was a much paler colour and made the heart stand out spectacularly. The heart was about two foot high and a foot wide, and in the middle of the heart he had carved some words, and the words read-

_**GILLIgaN Lovs MaRy aNN**_

"I wanted to put 'forever and ever', but I ran out of room," Gilligan confessed.

"Oh, Gilligan!" Mary Ann jumped up and down, clapping her hands together. "It's beautiful!" She threw her arms around his neck and kissed his face all over. "I love you too, Gilligan. Forever and ever."

Gilligan blushed, delighted at Mary Ann's reaction to his masterpiece. "I'm glad you like it," he said shyly.

"Like it? I love it! Oh, Gilligan. It'll be here forever. A permanent reminder of your love."

"Unless it gets hit by lightning," Gilligan mused. "Which probably will happen, knowing my luck."

"Gilligan, don't be so pessimistic," Mary Ann smiled, nudging him in the ribs. "This tree looks like it's been here for hundreds of years!"

"Well," Gilligan patted the tree almost apologetically. "I sure hope it doesn't mind that I just cut our names into it."

"I'm sure it doesn't mind a bit," said Mary Ann, constantly amazed at Gilligan's compassion for all living things, even when, like with fish, crabs and lobsters, they had to eat them.

"I don't think I spelled it right, though." Gilligan stroked his chin thoughtfully, tilting his head one way and then the other while Mary Ann squeezed him adoringly around the middle. "Does 'Gilligan' have one 'L' or two?"

# # # #

Professor Roy Hinkley was alone in the supply hut when Mary Ann appeared at the door.

"Professor? May I have a word?" she asked, politely, entering when the Professor nodded amiably. "It's about Gilligan, and something you told him about zinc."

The Professor looked up from his book. "Oh, that," he said, shifting a little uncomfortably. "Well, you see, Mary Ann, I merely informed Gilligan that zinc is responsible for the health of the male...er, er...reproductive organs, and..." he stopped. "Perhaps I shouldn't be telling you this."

"On the contrary, Professor," Mary Ann smiled, standing there with her hands clasped girlishly behind her back. "Gilligan and I could both do with some advice on, um, the best way to conceive a baby."

The Professor cleared his throat and stared at his book. "Um, well...I think you and Gilligan already know the best way to conceive a baby, Mary Ann."

Mary Ann watched the Professor trying to wriggle out of the conversation. She decided to tease him some more. "We certainly know the most _fun _way," she said innocently.

The Professor went red. "I'm sure that you do," he murmured, feeling that strange, familiar prickling sensation at the back of his neck.

"What I meant though, was the best things we can do to speed things up. Like telling Gilligan to eat zinc. The healthy things we should be doing, like not drinking alcohol or smoking cigars. That sort of thing."

The Professor smiled at last. "You sound like you already know what to do, Mary Ann. Eat healthily, don't put any noxious substances into your body, get plenty of rest and just keep...keep," he made clumsy circular motions with his hand whilst trying to look authoritative, "...doing it."

"We certainly will," Mary Ann grinned. "Thanks, Professor."

"Was there anything else?" the Professor asked, feeling damp under his arms and a little warm under the collar, and more than a little light in the head.

"Well," Mary Ann gave the Professor her most adorable, kittenish smile, "Gilligan and I just saw Ginger walking down to the lagoon. I wondered if you'd like to go walk with her, seeing as it's such a beautiful day. I know she'd just love it if you joined her."

# # # #

"So anyway," Gilligan was on the lagoon path chatting away to Ginger while he waited for Mary Ann to return. "Skinny told me this egg was cooked, see, and there's a way of telling if an egg is cooked, I mean, when it's still in its shell. If it's cooked, you spin it, and it spins, but if it's not cooked, it doesn't spin. Well, it does spin, but not like it spins when it's cooked. So Skinny said..."

Ginger rolled her eyes but kept smiling. "Yes, Gilligan," she intoned.

"Skinny said the egg was cooked, but it wasn't, 'cause I forgot to spin it, so when I cracked it, it went all over me."

"Yes, Gilligan," Ginger responded, staring past his head at some point far away.

"Do you have any egg stories, Ginger?" Gilligan asked. "Funny ones, I mean."

"Funny eggs?"

"No, funny stories. About eggs."

"No, Gilligan, I don't believe I do."

"Not even a little one?" Gilligan held his hand up with his thumb and index finger a small way apart. "Not even a teeny weeny one?"

Ginger sighed, and pasted on her sweetest smile. "Gilligan, I'm sorry, but I really don't find eggs all that funny. They're just eggs."

"Those eggs you found the other day were funny," Gilligan said. "Remember? Those ones with the funny little splotches on them. Those were funny eggs. Weren't they funny eggs, Ginger?"

Ginger's patience levels snapped just at the moment that Mary Ann and the Professor appeared on the path. "Will you stop talking about my eggs, Gilligan!" she said loudly.

The Professor and Mary Ann stopped dead in their tracks. "Are we interrupting anything?" the Professor asked, curiously.

"Oh, just Gilligan being Gilligan," Ginger sighed, shaking her head. "Wanting to talk about eggs, for some silly reason." On seeing the Professor however, she brightened. "But what are you doing here, Professor? Don't you have experiments to work on?"

"Well, actually, no. Not today," the Professor said, a little awkwardly. "I was just wondering, Ginger, whether you'd ah...care for some company on your stroll around the lagoon. My company, to be precise."

"Oh, Professor!" Ginger almost squealed, clasping her hands together. "To be precise, I'd be delighted! Oh, but no egg talk, you promise?"

"I promise Ginger, the word 'egg' shall not pass my lips." the Professor held out his arm, and the flame haired movie star accepted the gesture, linking her arm through his.

"Goodbye, Mary Ann," Ginger said breathily, waving as she and the Professor departed. "And goodbye, Gilligan!"

"Goodbye, Ginger," Gilligan called after her. "Don't forget, if you find any eggs, bring 'em back!"

"Gilligan, what was all that about?" Mary Ann asked him when they were alone again.

"I don't know," Gilligan shrugged. "Just Ginger being Ginger."

# # # #

"You know when I first realised I loved Mary Ann?" Gilligan said. He was watching the Skipper make some running repairs to their bamboo car. The pedals had been sticking recently and Skipper was leaning half in and half out of the car with an oilcan.

"When was that, Gilligan?" the Skipper wasn't really in the mood for small talk right now.

"That time she got mad at me."

"Gilligan, 'that time' could be _any_ time, the amount of times Mary Ann's gotten mad at you."

"Well, that's when I realised I loved her. When she does that face." Gilligan put his hands on his hips, widened his eyes and made his voice an octave higher. "'Oh, Gilligan! I _do _wish you wouldn't _do_ that'!"

The Skipper chuckled. He didn't want to encourage Gilligan, but he had to admit, sometimes the first mate's impressions could be uncannily accurate. "Let's hope she doesn't see you doing that," he grinned.

"She's beautiful though, isn't she?" Gilligan dropped the impression and sighed happily. "I think I made the right choice."

Skipper did a double take. "The right choice? Gilligan, what other choice did you have?"

Gilligan furrowed his brow. "Ginger?"

"Oh, really? You had a choice between Mary Ann and Ginger, did you? Who died and made you Cock-Of-The-Walk?"

"Cock-Of-The-What?" Gilligan asked, bemused.

"There's no way on earth Ginger would have married you, Gilligan," Skipper said, irritatedly. "She doesn't think of you that way."

"Tell that to her, all those times she tried to kiss me," Gilligan grimaced. "Yuck."

"There's another reason why you'd never have married Ginger," the Skipper said, leaning further into the car. "You think she's yucky."

"I don't think she's yucky," Gilligan protested. "Just the way she always used to kiss me." He leaned forward to get a better look at what the Skipper was doing. "Skipper, you sure you don't want me to do that? You look like you could get stuck."

"I am not going to get stuck, Gilligan. I just need a little more..." He squeezed himself further into the car. The car rocked and creaked, its bamboo chassis groaning under the Skipper's bulk.

"C'mon, Skipper, better let me do it. Or there'll be a few more repairs needed besides oiling the pedals."

The Skipper sighed and withdrew from the car. His face and neck were red with exertion and the collar of his blue polo shirt was wringing wet with perspiration. "Alright, Gilligan, but only because you insist. Not because of any other reason."

"Like you breaking the suspension," Gilligan said cheekily. He took the oilcan from the Skipper's outstretched hand and got into the car. "Anyway, I think Ginger's got designs on the Professor now. They went walking down by the lagoon two hours ago, and no-one's seen them since."

The Skipper sighed and shook his head. The last thing he wanted was Gilligan constantly reminding him that he had nobody to love. "Ginger's whereabouts is really none of my concern," he said, hoping it would shut Gilligan up. It didn't.

"Remember when Mrs. Howell tried fixing me up with Mary Ann?" came the first mate's voice from the floor of the car where the pedals were. "I think that's what Mary Ann is trying to do with Ginger and the Professor. Call it women's intuition."

"Gilligan, how can you have women's intuition?" the Skipper said, rolling his eyes.

"Man's intuition then. Anyway, I think it would be neat if they got married. Don't you, Skipper?" Gilligan finished oiling the pedals and got out of the car. "Here you are, Skipper. All done." He handed Skipper the oilcan and promptly squirted a jet of black oil all down the Skipper's shirt front. "Oops. Sorry, Skipper."

"Gilligan, why don't you just get into the car and take it for a test drive?" the Skipper suggested, trying very hard not to lose his temper.

"Good idea," Gilligan agreed. He climbed into the driver's seat, closed the door and grinned at Skipper through the window. "Want me to get you anything?"

"Yes, little buddy," Jonas Grumby smiled indulgently. "Get me a crew member who doesn't ask me such stupid questions all day long!"

"Gee, Skipper, no need to get sore," Gilligan said, pouting childishly. He grabbed hold of the wheel and put his feet on the pedals. He'd oiled them so well that the car shot forward at high speed across the clearing and crashed into a nearby coconut tree.

"Little buddy! Little buddy, are you all right?" the Skipper forgot his annoyance and ran to the car. He tugged the door open and leaned in, wrapping his big arm around Gilligan's skinny shoulders. "Speak to me, little buddy. Are you all right?" His big face creased with worry as Gilligan rubbed his neck and pulled a series of not too happy faces.

"I-I think so, Skipper," he mumbled.

Mary Ann had heard the commotion and came running across the clearing on her kitten heels. "Gilligan! Gilligan! Oh, Gilligan, are you hurt?"

Gilligan allowed the Skipper to pull him carefully out of the car, which was barely damaged, just a bit crumpled in the front. "I'm okay, Mary Ann," he said in a small voice, still holding his neck.

"Oh, Gilligan, don't be brave for my sake," Mary Ann said, fussing over her husband as though he'd hurtled into the tree at 200mph. "If it hurts, tell me!" She folded her arms around Gilligan and ushered him across the clearing to sit down at the table.

The Skipper rolled his eyes again and sighed loudly. He stared down at the spreading oil stain on his shirt, and then at his clumsy first mate being cooed over and mollycoddled by Mary Ann.

"What does he have that I haven't?" he implored, raising his eyes skyward, before joining the gathering crowd at the table.


	9. Temperature Rising

_I'd just like to say thank you to Courtney for giving me a welcome shove to get started on this chapter, and for the inspiration which led to the end scene. _

# # # #

The days passed. After the incident with the car, Mary Ann decided more than ever that she wanted to have a baby. She reasoned that if Gilligan was going to dice with death every day of his life then she at least wanted someone to remember him by. Of course when she told him this, even though she was joking, he fixed her with that '_I'm not sure I like what you just said' _look he normally reserved for the Skipper.

Mary Ann found that she was beginning to spend large parts of the day gazing at her husband and wondering what a child of his would look like. Would it inherit his long limbs and coltish ways? Would it inherit his blue/green eyes that reminded her of the tranquil, tropical shallows on a sunny day? Would it have his sense of mischief? His thick, dark hair? His expressive mouth? His long neck, the back of which she loved to nuzzle her lips against? Or would their child look like her, short and stumpy, with eyes the colour of a mossy mud puddle? _I hope it takes after him_, she thought._ He doesn't know how beautiful he is._

Gilligan was never aware that he was being scrutinized so carefully. His own thoughts about children were more simple. _I can't wait to take my kids fishing_. He had already decided it was kids, plural. If he was down at the shore, he'd pretend there was a child with him and he'd talk aloud while he cast off. Ginger caught him doing it one day while she was out on one of her walks, and smiled to herself as she listened to his garbled instructions._ Always be careful, if you're fishing with somebody else, never to foul their line. Especially Uncle Jonas. Or there'll be trouble! _

Their honeymoon week had ended, and they were back to spending meal times and chores and other activities as part of the larger group. Mary Ann's time of the month came and she lay low for a couple of days while Gilligan took care of her. After all the years of living in such close proximity to each other, the men had learned to be discreet around Ginger and Mary Ann for just a few days each month, and as with most young women who lived together, Ginger and Mary Ann's cycles had become synchronised. Mary Ann didn't explain the details of her cycle to Gilligan because she knew how squeamish he was, but she told him that women produced eggs each month and they got very tired when it happened, and sometimes they got stomach ache. Gilligan was mostly satisfied with this, and left her alone when she asked for privacy.

With the passing of her monthly visitor, Mary Ann went back to the Professor for advice.

# # # #

Professor Roy Hinkley did his best to overcome his embarrassment and be the best help he could be. _You know I'm not a physician, _he told her._ But I think I know a little more than the others. You're young and healthy, you have no underlying ailments that you know of, your cycle is regular and normal. It doesn't always happen right away, although it is perfectly possible to fall pregnant the very first time one has..._ he'd hesitated then.

_Sex? _Mary Ann had said, smiling happily, perched on the edge of his table.

_Yes_, the Professor had replied, arching his eyebrow.

He'd pulled out a small thermometer from his supply kit and wiped it off, then put it in her mouth, under her tongue. Mary Ann swung her legs, feeling as though she were ten years old again. Her Aunt Martha would bring her to the doctors and they'd sit in the reception area that smelled of antiseptic and her Aunt would read an old issue of Home Journal while Mary Ann sat on the floor playing with the half dressed dolls in the yellow plastic bin.

The Professor removed the thermometer, wet with Mary Ann's saliva, and peered at it. _Normal,_ he declared.

_What does that mean?_ she'd asked.

_Well, _he'd said,_ releasing an egg stimulates the production of the hormone progesterone, which raises body temperature. Following ovulation, your temperature can increase by 0.5 to 1.6 degrees. This temperature spike indicates that you've ovulated. This is just a basic thermometer, though. It's hardly the most accurate way of detecting ovulation._

Mary Ann blinked. _Are you saying I should take my temperature every day, and if it goes up, I'm ovulating? _

_It certainly won't harm your chances, _the Professor had smiled._ However, the very _best _way to increase your chances of conceiving, _he'd folded his arms and given her his best scholarly look,_ is to have regular energetic sex, as often as you can, every single day._

Mary Ann had blushed scarlet.

_Touche, _the Professor had laughed.

_# # # #_

Gilligan was an attentive lover. There was no faulting his commitment to the cause. When Mary Ann had told him of the Professor's suggestions, he'd smiled shyly and lowered his gaze to the floor. _Starting from when?_ he'd asked.

_No time like the present, _she'd replied, hooking her finger lightly under his chin and bringing his face up for a kiss.

# # # #

Ginger was doing her best to roll pastry for a pie. The dough she'd made was lumpy and uneven and kept sticking to the makeshift rolling pin.

"_Oh!_" she exclaimed loudly, just as Mrs. Howell appeared in the supply hut to see what she was doing.

"Whatever is the matter?" Mrs. Howell asked. When she saw the doughy mess spread over the table, lumps of it stuck to the rolling pin and chunks of it stuck to the table, her cultured nose wrinkled. "Oh," she said distastefully. "My dear, stick to what you're best at." She patted the movie star's arm indulgently.

"She knows I can't cook," Ginger complained. "'The Lean, Mean Cuisine Queen' was just a movie I was in once." She picked up a lump of dough and threw it down again in disgust.

"Well, where is she?" Mrs. Howell said, peering around the room through her lorgnette.

"Where do you think?" Ginger sighed.

The two women stared at each other. Ginger raised her delicately plucked eyebrows.

"Oh," said Mrs. Howell, and coughed.

# # # #

"Gilligan..." Mary Ann murmured, her eyes closed in ecstasy. "Gilligan...that feels so good...don't stop. Don't stop...right there...that's it..."

Gilligan looked up from where he was sitting cross legged at the end of the bed massaging Mary Ann's foot. "I told you not to go hiking in those shoes," he chided her with a smile. "That's something Ginger would do."

"I didn't know you'd be taking me up the mountain," Mary Ann replied as Gilligan moved his thumbs gently over the ball of her foot, which throbbed mercilessly from being wedged into kitten heels all day.

"What mountain?" Gilligan scoffed. "That was barely a hill."

"To you, maybe," she sighed.

"You know, you should be more fit," Gilligan smirked. "Like me. We should start up a regime, like we had in the Navy. I did cross country running."

"Good for you," Mary Ann replied. "I'd rather do cross country strolling."

"You new recruits," Gilligan said, putting on his little used tone of authority. "You're all the same . Wet behind the ears. Green around the gills. Feeble minded, lily livered, pigeon toed and weak willed."

"What is this, Gilligan's Boot Camp?" Mary Ann smiled, wiggling her toes against his fingers.

"Who said you could speak, cadet?" Gilligan pursed his lips and frowned, his expression so exaggerated Mary Ann couldn't help but laugh.

"Sorry, sir," she said with a mock salute.

"That's better. Say, your feet are cute. What are you doing this evening?"

Mary Ann poked him in the chest with her big toe. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Gilligan grinned. He let go of her foot and crawled his way up her prone body. "I'd like to know," he said, inching his face close to hers.

Mary Ann giggled. She wrapped her arms lovingly around his torso, kissed him gently on the lips. "I'm going to go down to the docks and find me a nice, handsome sailor to have fun with," she purred.

"More handsome than me?" Gilligan said, his eyes twinkling.

"No-one's more handsome than you," Mary Ann said gently. Massaging Gilligan's fragile ego never hurt. He was too sweet natured to ever get bigheaded.

"What about the Professor?" he went on, his gaze flitting over her face.

"Not even the Professor."

They kissed deeply. When it ended, Mary Ann gazed up into her husband's eyes and smiled adoringly at him. "Gilligan?" she asked, breathlessly.

"Yes, my sweet?" he answered in his best romantically seductive voice.

Mary Ann batted her eyelashes and pointed to the bedside table. "Could you please pass me my thermometer?"

# # # #

Gilligan yawned. He was supposed to be helping the Skipper dig another drainage ditch, but he could barely keep his eyes open. It wasn't long before he dozed off standing up with his arms crossed over the handle of his bamboo shovel, the shovel part wedged into the sand.

The Skipper stopped his own digging and rolled his eyes when he saw his crewman asleep. He crept ever so quietly over to Gilligan until his face was just inches away from the first mate's. He studied Gilligan's shifting features. Gilligan's eyes moved under their lids, his lips twitched. "No, Mary Ann," he murmured. "We already did it three times."

The Skipper's eyebrows raised. This was interesting. He folded his arms and decided to give it a few more moments. Gilligan smacked his lips together and then giggled. "Mary Ann, stop it."

The Skipper put on his best girl's voice. "Gilligan, I love you," he simpered, his nose almost touching Gilligan's.

"I love you too, Mary Ann," Gilligan answered, fast asleep. "But don't you think we've done it enough for one night?"

"But Gilligan, I can't do it without you," the Skipper crooned.

"I just want to go to sleep, Mary Ann," Gilligan answered, frowning slightly and absently waving his hand.

"But you can't go to sleep, Gilligan," the Skipper cajoled, in a girlish whine.

"Why not?" Gilligan pouted.

"_Because this drainage ditch needs digging!_" the Skipper yelled in his own voice, startling the first mate so badly that he woke with a yelp and got his arms and legs tangled round the shovel, tripping over it and landing on his back at the bottom of the ditch.

"Skipper, why did you do that?" Gilligan muttered, untangling his limbs from the shovel and sitting up. His hat had fallen off and he picked it up, shaking sand off it before wedging it onto the back of his head.

"Because it's two in the afternoon and you shouldn't be sleeping!" the Skipper's face had gone pink and he gripped his own shovel so hard he thought he might snap it.

Gilligan unfolded his legs and got to his feet. The butt of his jeans was covered in damp sand.

"Who says I was sleeping?" he said, indignantly.

"Gilligan, you were so fast asleep you were talking," the Skipper replied, taking deep breaths. "About Mary Ann."

"I was?" Gilligan squinted against the sun. "What was I saying?"

"Never mind what you were saying," the Skipper grumbled. "But it's obvious why you were sleeping. You're exhausted!"

Gilligan's ears went bright red. He stared at his shovel. "Oh," he said in a small voice.

"Yes. Oh," said the Skipper. "But never mind that, now. Just get digging, and we'll say no more about it."

Gilligan began digging. His back ached, his legs were stiff. He threw shovels full of sand over his head and yawned. He dug further and further down into the same spot, yawning all the while. His hole got deeper. He threw more sand over his shoulder. He began to doze off again. Finally he slumped forward and fell over the shovel handle, landing face down in the sand where he started snoring, sending up clouds of sand around his nose and mouth.

The Skipper heard the snoring and turned around. His little buddy was fast asleep at the bottom of the ditch, his arms and legs splayed out around him like a broken pinwheel. He raised his eyes to the heavens and sighed loudly and pointedly.

"Women!" he declared.

# # # #

A couple of days later, Ginger and the Professor were taking one of their now-frequent strolls around the lagoon. In the Professor's right hand he held his favourite book, A World Of Facts, from which he read aloud a selection of stories designed to thrill and amaze his flame haired companion. At least, that's what he hoped.

"The Ancient Greeks believed earthquakes were caused by giants fighting underground," he said, shaking his head. "Imagine that."

"I knew an ancient Greek once. A movie producer." Ginger smiled, lowering her heavily mascaraed eyelashes. "He tried to make the earth move for me."

The Professor frowned and pretended he hadn't heard. "A flea can jump 350 times its own body length," he went on, peering intently at the pages of his book.

"So did I, when he started chasing me around the room," Ginger said, laughing sensuously. "He could move pretty fast for an old guy."

"A crocodile cannot stick its tongue out," said the Professor.

"He couldn't keep his tongue _in_," Ginger smiled, her glossy pinkened lips shining in the sun.

The Professor felt warmth creeping up his neck. He turned to face Ginger. The beautiful movie star lowered her gaze and looked up at him through her thick, dark eyelashes. She backed slowly towards the foliage.

"Hummingbirds have the fastest wingbeat," the Professor said, his blue eyes shining as he watched Ginger's swaying hips.

"I'll bet they do," Ginger purred seductively.

The Professor moved a little closer to her as she took another few steps back towards the shade of the dense jungle vegetation. As she shimmied her hips she gazed at him with eyes like green fire. She was a slinky, enticing vixen, and the Professor was dangerously close to being lured into her trap. "The Latin name for tiger is _panthera tigris_," he said, vaguely wondering how she managed to move like rippling water.

"Rrrrrrrrr," she growled, deep in her beautiful, creamy throat, ending on a deep chuckle that almost knocked the wind out of him.

"The Siberian tiger is the largest," the Professor said, wondering what was happening to him. He was following Ginger into the bushes like a man possessed. She held out her arms and beckoned him into her embrace. At the last minute, just as the Professor abandoned all hope, Ginger stepped back onto something that yielded beneath her high heeled shoe and then moved suddenly, throwing her off balance. At the same time a loud yell of pain came from the undergrowth right next to them.

"The Siberian tiger may be the largest, but I sure know which is the heaviest! _Ginger!_"

"_Gilligan?_" cried Ginger and the Professor together.

The Professor parted the large fern leaves and there was Gilligan, huddled on the ground, completely hidden from view. He had taken off his right sneaker and was massaging his foot through his sock, his face screwed up in anguish.

"Gilligan! What_ are _you doing in the bushes?" asked Ginger, astonished. "You're not trying to spy on us, are you?" Her smooth brow creased into an attractive frown. "You naughty boy! You're a married man!"

"No, Ginger!" Gilligan looked personally affronted. He looked back at the Professor. "I'm hiding," he said meekly. "From Mary Ann."

# # # #

"Mr. Howell? Do you have any chores you want doing?"

Thurston Howell III, reclining on his bamboo sun lounger, stopped sucking on his straw and looked across at his wife Lovey. "Lovey, my dear, am I hearing things? I thought I just heard Gilligan asking if I had any chores I wanted doing."

Lovey Howell, sitting on the lounger next to him, smiled and twirled her parasol. "How lovely!" she declared.

"You're not hearing things, Mr. Howell." Gilligan stood between the headrests of the two loungers, twisting his fingers together. "I'm really in the mood to do some chores right now. In fact, I love chores, so, the more the merrier."

Mr. Howell leaned sideways and looked up. Gilligan looked back at him with his most ingratiating grin. "Heavens, the boy's got sunstroke."

"No, really," Gilligan went on. "I'd be happy to clean all your shoes, or sweep out your hut, or feed your polo pony or launder your money."

Mr. Howell choked on his cocktail. "Come again?"

"Launder your money. In the wash tub. Get it all nice and clean and then peg it out on the line. It must get awful dusty lying around in that big trunk all day."

"Gilligan, my boy, the thought of you touching my money brings me out in hives." The millionaire flopped back onto his sun lounger and waved Gilligan away. "Now run along, would you?"

Lovey reached over and patted her husband's arm as he stared off into the middle distance, his face contorted into a grimace. "There, there," she crooned. "Everything's all right."

"Lovey, he besmirched a Howell! Launder my money! No-one besmirches a Howell. At least not before lunch."

"Well, how about a game of golf then?" Gilligan persisted. "It's a beautiful day. Come on Mr. Howell, let's have a game of pitch and putt." Gilligan made swinging motions with his arms as if he were holding a golf club and almost knocked over the Howells' cocktail pitcher, rebalancing it just in time.

"Gilligan, run along dear, _there's_ a good boy." Mrs. Howell smiled at Gilligan, crinkling her nose girlishly. "Poor Mr. Howell needs to get his breath back."

"But..." Gilligan began to look almost panicked. He craned his neck and looked back over his shoulder. From somewhere up the jungle path came Mary Ann's voice.

"Gilligan! Gilligan, where are you? _Gilligan!_ I know you came this way!"

Gilligan's shoulders slumped. He stared dejectedly at Mrs. Howell. "Never mind," he sighed.

# # # #

Gilligan lay on his stomach with his face buried in a mound of pillows. "Mrrry Ammm, yurrr wwrrm meeeou," he mumbled.

Mary Ann smiled, staring up at the ceiling through shining, sated eyes. "I didn't hear a single word of that," she said, swatting her husband's arm.

Gilligan lifted his head. His expression was slack, his eyes heavy. Damp hair clung to his forehead. "I said, _Mary Ann, you're wearing me out_."

Mary Ann giggled. She rolled onto her side and stroked the hair away from Gilligan's face. "I didn't think that was possible," she purred, cuddling up to him, wrapping her leg around his. "You're like a little stick of dynamite." She bit his shoulder playfully.

"Yeah? Well, this little stick of dynamite's got no powder left." Gilligan's head hit the pillow again. He closed his eyes, exhausted.

Mary Ann stroked his back, running her fingertips down the valley of his spine. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," he murmured.

"You'll be the best daddy ever," she smiled.

"So will you," he replied.

"We'll get there, Gilligan. We will." She pulled the sheets up over both of them and snuggled close.

"I know," he mumbled, and fell asleep.

# # # #

"Six years we've been here, Professor," said the Skipper a few days later, tipping a basket of freshly harvested coconuts onto the floor in the corner of the supply hut. "Six long years."

The Professor was working on one of his experiments. He was trying to develop a new type of plant food that would help them to grow better crops as the nutrients in the soil depleted. They hadn't had much rainfall for a while, and their vegetable patch was in constant need of irrigation. He watched his liquids bubble and steam, chewing on the end of his pencil and making notes in his book. "Six years and three months, to be precise," he said, jotting something down.

"And it's been so hot lately." the Skipper removed his hat and wiped a beefy forearm across his perspiring forehead. He stared out of the window at the shimmering air. The Howells were outside, on their way somewhere, strolling around as they were wont to do. "What is it, 100 degrees out there?"

"it's been around 87 degrees for the past two weeks," the Professor said, tapping one of his beakers and making more notes.

The Skipper looked over at all the Professor's science paraphernalia. "Couldn't you come up with an invention that makes ice cream?" he asked plaintively.

The Professor smiled. "I guess it's not beyond the realms of possibility," he said, suppressing a chuckle, "but I think a healthy year round crop of vegetables, fruit and wheat is more important at the moment."

"You would," the Skipper sighed.

"Ask Mary Ann to make you a mango shake," the Professor smiled. "They're delicious."

"They sure are," the Skipper said. "As soon as Mary Ann shows up, that's exactly what I'll do."

He wandered outside. The Howells looked over and waved. The Skipper waved back. He smiled to himself. The Howells were always so cheery. He looked around the camp site. Everything was still and quiet under the late morning sun. It was so hot, too hot. All Skipper wanted to do was flop down in the shade and grab a sneaky forty winks.

"Lovely morning, isn't it, Captain?" Lovey said, as the Howells joined him. "Beautiful, in fact."

The Skipper studied the millionaires fondly. Neither one of them had broken even a bead of sweat, in fact Lovey looked as fresh as if she'd just walked out of an air conditioned building. "Am I the only one feeling the heat?" he said, pulling at the collar of his blue polo shirt.

"It is a little warm," Mr. Howell agreed. "But we Howells are made of stern stuff."

"The Professor suggested asking Mary Ann to whip up a batch of her delicious mango shakes," the Skipper said, licking his lips. "I have to say, that idea is getting better and better with every moment."

"Where is Mary Ann, anyway?" Mrs. Howell asked. "She and Ginger are normally busy as bees this time of the morning."

"Yes," Mr. Howell said. "Watching them bustling about positively_ exhausts_ me."

"I can take a wild guess that wherever she is, my little buddy's there too," the Skipper replied, "and even though I really want that mango shake, it's a small price to pay for the peace and quiet of not having Gilligan arou..." he broke off as a distant noise made them all prick up their ears.

"What on earth is that?" Mrs. Howell said, her eyes widening with worry. "It sounds like a banshee!"

The noise came again, a distant howling that seemed to be coming nearer.

"Surely it's not natives?" said Mr. Howell, putting his arm protectively around his wife's shoulders. "They're usually a lot sneakier in their approach."

"It's not natives, Mr. Howell," sighed the Skipper as the crazed banshee yelling got closer and closer. "It's..."

The owner of the mad yelling made himself known, flashing past the trio in a streak of red, white and pale blue.

"...Gilligan," all three of them said together, in exactly the same pained way.

Gilligan ran like the wind through the camp. He stopped his crazed yelling just long enough to shout "_I'm not a machine!_" before disappearing around the side of the supply hut, vanishing into the opposite side of the jungle just as quickly as he'd come, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust behind.

A minute or so later, Mary Ann appeared, running after him, much more slowly but no less determined. She was waving a small glass cylinder in the air, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining. As she crossed the clearing she called his name, over and over again.

"Gilligan..._Gilligan!_ Come back!"

The Professor came out of his hut to see what all the commotion was about, narrowly avoiding a collision with the gingham clad farm girl on her way back into the jungle. He noticed the thermometer grasped between her fingers as she disappeared around the corner. The last words everybody heard before she vanished into the undergrowth made Lovey Howell gasp and cover her mouth, and Thurston Howell clear his throat and stick his chin out.

"Gilligan, Gilligan..._I'm ovulating!_"

The Skipper stammered and swallowed and blushed right down to the roots of his greying blond hair. The Howells fidgeted and made little shocked noises. Ginger appeared at the door to the girls' hut, her mouth hanging open in amazement. The Professor looked at all of the castaways in turn, then smiled over at the Skipper.

"Looks like your mango shake is going to have to wait," he grinned.


	10. Moon Goddess

Mary Ann's ovulation soon became the catchphrase of the day. It started when the Professor returned to his experiment and found that he'd over boiled one of his solutions. _Mary Ann's ovulation has put me right off my stroke, _he muttered within earshot of the Skipper, who immediately picked it up and ran with it. Later on while he was banging nails into the palm fronds on the roof of his hut, he bent one by accident and declared, _darn! Mary Ann's ovulation has put me right off my stroke!_

When neither Gilligan nor Mary Ann returned to camp in time to start preparing lunch, it was left to Ginger to fix something up. Her attempts at fish pie were as disastrous as ever, and while the Howells, the Skipper and the Professor all stared miserably at their burnt offerings, Ginger said, _that pie would have been perfect if Mary Ann's ovulation hadn't put me right off my stroke._

Mrs. Howell then raised her fingers to her throat and shocked everyone with_ I ought to be scandalized, but I'm afraid Mary Ann's ovulation has put me right off my stroke! _causing her husband to almost spit a mouthful of pineapple juice onto the table, remembering at the last minute that a Howell would never be so uncouth, but then choking as he swallowed it down the wrong way. _Lovey!_ He cried, his expression pained, as his wife smiled happily and batted her eyelashes.

There was one person whose stroke hadn't been put off by Mary Ann's ovulation and that was Gilligan. After she had caught up with him, or rather he had allowed her to catch up with him in the depths of the jungle, Mary Ann had dragged him laughing and protesting back to their hut, where she'd forcibly wrestled him into bed and proceeded to have her wicked way with him. His struggles never lasted long once Mary Ann's hands and mouth got going, and soon Gilligan was well into his stride and enjoying the one thing that no-one could accuse him of being bad at.

Afterwards, Mary Ann lay in his arms in blissful contentment as she always did, enjoying the deep rise and fall of his chest as he refilled his lungs with air. She had hoped he'd be willing to take her right there out in the jungle where she'd caught him, but Gilligan was still shy and hesitant about doing it out of doors and although she had tried to get him all worked up under the heat of the morning sun, he'd turned bashful and made it plain he wasn't going to play along out there.

_Someone might see us,_ he'd said, pushing her hands away as she'd tried undoing his belt.

_Gilligan, no-one's going to follow us after that performance_, she'd laughed, trying again.

_What about Gladys?_ he'd persisted, angling his lower half sharply away from her.

_Gladys? Gilligan, she's a monkey!_ Mary Ann grabbed his butt, squeezing it through his jeans, making him laugh and yelp and spin in circles, his long arms flailing.

_Ever been laughed at by a monkey? Besides, she throws things and she's got good aim_, Gilligan countered, grabbing Mary Ann's hands and pinning them down by her sides.

_Oh, Gilligan! Where's your sense of adventure, you mad, impulsive beast? _Mary Ann grinned as she pressed up against him, gazing up at his smiling face.

_Back at the hut where I left it_, he replied, meeting her gaze square on, but then he'd been swayed by the imploring look in her eyes and he'd shook his head and sighed and then he'd kissed her thoroughly and she'd melted in his arms. _One day,_ _Mary Ann_, _one day. When I feel more confident, I __promise. _And Mary Ann had acquiesced, because Gilligan's confidence was like spun glass and easily shattered, and besides, when Gilligan promised something he meant it.

His confidence behind closed doors, though, was growing by the day. Skipper was always complaining that Gilligan never listened to a word he was told, but in bed with Mary Ann, Gilligan listened and he listened good. And even though he could still be a little clumsy and they'd both ended up on the floor more than a few times, he was a happy, enthusiastic bed partner and always put Mary Ann's needs before his own.

For her part, Mary Ann did all that she could to make sure Gilligan enjoyed himself as much as she did, but the raw power of male sexuality was more than a little awe-inspiring even in someone as sweet and non-threatening as Gilligan. Touching him there, let alone doing anything else, always filled her with a butterfly-inducing sense of fear, anticipation and excitement all rolled into one. After all, she had grown up on a farm, and had seen the unstoppable force of male animal lust in action every year when siring season came around.

At around 2pm, Mary Ann sighed and rolled herself off Gilligan. She sat up and stretched the kinks out of her arms and legs. "This is awfully self-indulgent of us, lying around making love all day," she smiled, pulling the sheet back and patting Gilligan's bare stomach with light, slapping sounds.

"It's your fault for ovulating," Gilligan answered back, cheekily. "I would have been knee deep in sand by now, digging the Skipper's ditch."

_Instead of digging my ditch_, Mary Ann thought with a naughty, private smile. "I can't see much work getting done in this heat," she said, stroking her hand gently down Gilligan's thigh. "This is more like swimming weather."

"Hey, good idea, Mary Ann," Gilligan said, watching her hand with interest, wondering if she was trying to get him going again or just being affectionate. "We could go to the lagoon. Boy, it sure is hotter than normal." _And it's getting hotter,_ he thought, as Mary Ann's fingers worked their way back up his thigh to his groin.

Mary Ann turned around and settled on her haunches facing Gilligan, who looked back at her with a questioning gaze. Her fingers tickled the very top of his thigh where the skin was soft and velvety and where she knew he was super sensitive. He screwed his face up and pushed feebly at her hand, but she could see he was enjoying it, and soon his pushing became pulling and he gently drew her hand onto where he wanted it. "One more for the road?" Mary Ann suggested, closing her fingers around the wakening beast.

"I don't think I have much choice," Gilligan responded, settling back onto the pillows with a happy sigh of surrender.

# # # #

Later on, Mary Ann and Gilligan strolled hand-in-hand down the jungle path on their way for a swim in the lagoon. Mary Ann was wearing her black one piece bathing suit under her short-shorts and her gingham blouse tied in a loose knot under her breasts. Gilligan was wearing swimming shorts and his sneakers without socks and his t-shirt without his rugby shirt because it was so hot. Nothing but a tropical cyclone or a grasping monkey could remove his hat though and as they walked along he repositioned it on his head every time a low lying banana leaf or wayward fern tried to snatch it off.

# # # #

Ginger and the Professor were also down by the lagoon. The heat was making the movie star very frisky indeed, and she was sashaying more than ever. It was no accident that she was walking just a little way ahead of the Professor, and that he was getting a good eyeful of her smooth, rounded buttocks undulating within the tight confines of her clingy gold dress.

Roy Hinkley had brought along his World of Facts book as usual, but was having a hard time concentrating on it. Ginger seemed to be paying him a lot more attention than normal these days, and while his analytical mind told him it was perfectly reasonable that Mary Ann and Gilligan's marriage and subsequent sexual activity should have a knock-on effect and make everybody think more about...well, _the physical union between a man and a woman_, it seemed that Ginger had been affected the most. She was, after all, still a healthy, young, sexually attractive female, and the number of potential male partners on the island who were eligible had just been reduced from three to two._ She must be feeling vulnerable,_ he thought, studying the movements of her hips and resolving to make notes later.

Ginger saw something attractive on the path ahead. A small, cone shaped shell with alternating bands of orange and brown. She made a little noise of happiness and bent over to pick it up, providing the Professor with a full view of her backside as she did so. Her fingers closed around the shell and she smiled to herself as she glanced back and watched A World of Facts fall to the ground with a thud.

The Professor gulped as his book hit the sand. How did I manage to let go of that? he wondered. He crouched down to retrieve it, tutting peevishly at all the creased and folded pages._ My favourite book, _he thought._ It'll take forever to get these pages back into shape._ When he stood up again he found that Ginger was standing right in front of him and as he straightened, his gaze rose slowly up her legs, hips, stomach and breasts before coming to rest on her pink rosebud lips. _Talking of things being in shape, _he thought,_ that's not a bad shape at all. A little asymmetrical in places, but other than that, quite aesthetically pleasing to the eye._

"Uh...Ginger, I beg your pardon. I didn't see you there," he mumbled. For some unfathomable reason, he was unable to tear his eyes away from Ginger's perfect pout.

"Look at the pretty shell I found," Ginger smiled, the sun gleaming off her white teeth. She held it up and stroked along its length with her fingertip, caressing its tiny ridges. "It looks like the horn of a tiny little unicorn."

"Doubtful, Ginger," the Professor smiled, "although it probably once served as the home of a tiny little hermit crab."

Ginger turned the little shell in her fingers, treating it like a precious gemstone. "Imagine being that tiny," she breathed. "So small, and frightened and helpless. How dangerous the world would seem!"

The Professor watched her caress the shell and felt the World Of Facts slipping from his grasp again.

"It must be awful to be so tiny and vulnerable, with no-one to look after you," Ginger said, bringing the shell near to her lips. "poor little hermit crab." With that, she kissed the little shell tenderly and brought her gaze up to meet the Professor's, her eyes all soft and smoky looking.

Professor Roy Hinkley dropped his book without another thought. He plucked the little shell out of Ginger's hand and threw it into the bushes. Then he wound his arms around her waist and kissed her hard before he had time to change his mind. Ginger was completely taken aback, but her shock only lasted a moment or two before she responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him back with equal passion, murmuring with surprise and sheer delight against his searching lips.

Quite a way back along the path, Gilligan and Mary Ann were having an unwanted encounter with Gilligan's monkey friend, the same one who had almost killed them three years ago by throwing around the things that they'd made from plastic explosives. The monkey was getting old now, but was as mischievous as ever, and it had dropped out of an overhanging tree branch right onto Gilligan's head as he passed beneath it.

"Oh no. I'm not in the mood for this today," Gilligan muttered as the wizened little creature began pulling at his hat. "Why can't you go and find another monkey to molest?"

Mary Ann stifled a giggle as she watched her husband battle valiantly with the monkey, who seemed to find its own antics highly amusing. The more Gilligan tried to remove it from his head, the tighter it held on. "Oh, Gilligan, just let him have the hat! You know he always brings it back eventually."

"Yeah, covered in mango juice and squished banana," Gilligan said, pulling the monkey's fingers out of his nose while the monkey chattered and squealed. "Let go, will you? Go pick your own nose!"

Mary Ann shook her head and smiled. The monkey was in a particularly naughty mood today, and was hellbent on grabbing Gilligan's hat.

The little monkey froze suddenly, staring out into the jungle with huge eyes and making a loud chattering noise. "What is it?" Gilligan asked, wondering if there was some kind of predator nearby. He peered into the jungle and as soon as he was distracted, the monkey whipped the hat off his head, bounded down out of his arms and scampered off along the path with a victorious howl.

Gilligan put both hands up onto his bared head and moaned loudly. "I don't believe it! He got me again! I can't count the number of times I've been outsmarted by that little guy!"

Mary Ann could. Gilligan was nothing if not gullible. The monkey had been pulling the "Look!" trick for years and Gilligan fell for it every time. "Come on, Gilligan, forget it. He'll be back when he gets bored."

"Not this time, Mary Ann. I want my hat back!" Gilligan declared and set off after the monkey, his long legs carrying him off down the path before Mary Ann had time to stop him.

With a sigh, Mary Ann broke into a trot and went after them both. _Wait until we have our children, _she thought. _If they take after their father, _w_e'll be chasing them all over the island like the Keystone Kops._

The monkey hurtled down the path waving Gilligan's hat like a trophy. As Gilligan began gaining on it, it deftly turned left into the bushes and headed down to the lagoon that way. Undeterred, Gilligan followed suit, shouting _come back here, you hairy hat snatcher! _His feet moved swiftly and surely over the uneven ground, propelling him through the thick undergrowth, his steady blue eyes keeping the little monkey in sight always. Moments later he saw the monkey break through the bushes and leap out onto the lagoon path. Following close behind, Gilligan burst out of the bushes and onto the path and suddenly found himself face to face with the Professor and Ginger engaged in the most passionate kiss he'd ever seen. He panicked and tried to stop but it was too late, his feet were moving too fast. The monkey's arrival had gone largely unnoticed by the smooching pair, but there was no ignoring Gilligan as he appeared at speed out of nowhere and inserted himself right in between them with a startled yelp.

Ginger found herself forcibly disengaged from the Professor's clutches by the unceremonious arrival of the first mate. She threw her hands up in the air and gave Gilligan her most perturbed scowl. "Gilligan!" she cried angrily. "Not again!"

"Hi," said Gilligan, waving feebly. "Nice day for a stroll, isn't it? Although, ah...it didn't look like you were doing much strolling." He flinched as Ginger took a step towards him as if she might suddenly produce the Skipper's hat and whack him with it. "Sorry, Ginger! I was kidding!"

"Well, you can stop kidding right now!" Ginger pouted crossly. "This is the second time we've caught you hiding in the bushes! What have you got to say for yourself, Gilligan?"

Gilligan looked from Ginger to the Professor and back again. "Boy, he sure is a fast mover," he said, grinning inanely.

The Professor coughed. He looked as if he wished the ground would open up and swallow him.

Ginger gasped indignantly, her green eyes widening like saucers. "Gilligan! What the Professor and I get up to is none of your business! He's perfectly entitled to kiss me if he wants! And who are you to judge, anyway? Just because you're married, you think you can tell other people how to conduct their personal lives? Why, I ought to...!"

"Not the Professor. _Him_!" said Gilligan, pointing at the monkey who had stopped running and was now sitting on a rock chewing happily on the brim of Gilligan's hat. "He stole my hat, I was just trying to get it back." Gilligan wandered over to the monkey and began cooing at it, his arm outstretched, fingers waggling. "C'mon, little fella. Gimme the hat!"

The monkey leapt off the rock and ran towards the shoreline, still waving Gilligan's hat. The Professor and Ginger watched as Gilligan also broke into a run. As he approached the monkey, the monkey leapt sideways, waited for Gilligan to pass, and then jumped up onto Gilligan's back, effectively pushing the first mate headlong into the lagoon with a loud splash before jumping off again and landing safely on terra firma.

As Gilligan sat up spluttering in the shallows, the monkey chattered loudly in imitation of human laughter. It jumped up and down with glee and finally threw Gilligan's hat towards him like a frisbee. Gilligan caught it in midair. "Thanks a lot, so-called friend," he called, jamming the hat lopsidedly onto his head. "You just wait- one day I'll find out where you hide all your bananas, and then you'll be crying!"

Mary Ann appeared on the path soon after, having followed the broken trail the monkey and Gilligan had made through the jungle. "Hello, everyone," she smiled, startling the Professor and Ginger, who were already on edge. "Lovely day for a swim, don't you think?"

"Those two," said Ginger, linking her slender arm through the Professor's as Mary Ann trotted down to the lagoon, not in the least bit perturbed by the sight of Gilligan sitting in the water with his t-shirt and sneakers still on, "are the living end. The living end!"

# # # #

Mary Ann, her hair safely tucked away under a fetching bathing cap covered in big plastic flowers, swam across the lagoon in a sort of clumsy doggy paddle towards Gilligan who had his arms out towards her. "How many is that?" she gasped, clutching his fingers and letting him pull her towards him.

"Five," said Gilligan, holding her hands as her feet sank towards the sandy bottom. "Five laps. Which is better than last time. You only did three and then said your legs hurt."

"The Professor did say I had to keep fit and healthy if I wanted to increase my chances of conception," Mary Ann said, matter-of-factly. "Here, hold onto me. I'll do some leg kicks." She turned her back to Gilligan and rested her head on his left shoulder. She lifted her body so that it was almost horizontal and Gilligan slid his hands supportively beneath her while she pedalled her legs in circles, kicking up little splashes with every turn of her feet. "Ugh!" she grimaced. "My legs are killing me already!"

"They're very nice legs, Mary Ann," Gilligan said. "Personally, I don't think you need to exercise them."

"Really?" Mary Ann said, getting breathless. "You don't think they've gotten a little chubby lately?"

"Chubby?" Gilligan said, incredulously. "Mary Ann, the Skipper is what I would call chubby. Not you."

Mary Ann kicked her legs harder, sending up bigger splashes that rained down on both their faces. "It's different for girls," she said. "Girls have to look perfect always. Especially girls who live with beautiful creatures like Ginger Grant. Her legs go on forever!"

"Your legs are perfect, Mary Ann," said Gilligan, blinking drops of water from his eyes. "They go from your butt to the ground and they look great in shorts. And I thought that even _before_ I fell in love with you."

"You did?" Mary Ann stopped kicking and wriggled around so that she was facing him. "Gilligan! Even when you were all anti-girls?"

"Even then," Gilligan said, blushing a little. "I wasn't really anti-girls, just anti-kissing and stuff. I thought it was stupid." he grinned and laughed bashfully. "I don't think it's stupid now, though. Not with you, anyway."

Mary Ann drifted towards him and hooked her wet arms around his neck, bringing their faces close together. "You're a good kisser, Gilligan," she purred, her lips barely inches from his. "You were a little clumsy at first, but you soon got the hang of it."

"Skinny Mulligan used to tease me," Gilligan said, watching his wife bob gently up and down in the water. "Just because him and Florence Oppenheimer were always kissing and I didn't have a girlfriend. I'm glad I waited, though. Just think- if I'd met someone else I might never have met you. I can't bear to think about that."

Mary Ann closed the small gap between them. "Then don't think about it," she whispered, and pressed her wet lips gently against his.

# # # #

The Skipper made his way down to the lagoon with his fishing gear, still blushing from his encounter with Ginger and the Professor not five minutes ago. They had been standing right in the middle of the path holding hands and giggling at some private joke, and he had rounded a corner and almost ran smack-bang into the pair of them. His sudden arrival made them laugh even more, as though he were some giant figure of fun sent solely for their amusement. He had apologised profusely, of course, and The Professor had apologised profusely as well, saying that something had happened earlier concerning Gilligan and a monkey and they were still in hysterics over it. The Skipper had nodded his understanding and went on his way, relieved that he wasn't the cause of their mirth after all, but soon he got to thinking that there was something else going on between those two. Something had been slowly building up over the years and now looked to be _really_ happening. Ginger was a fine figure of a woman, there was no doubting it, and the Professor was a handsome man full of boyish charm despite his nose always being planted in a book. When he thought about it, it seemed only logical that they would eventually become a couple. If anything, they ought to have become a couple way before Mary Ann and Gilligan had, but in the end, his little buddy's fear of women had been well and truly overcome by the sweet, adorable Kansas farm girl.

With all of these musings going round and round in his head, the Skipper was down on the shore all ready to set up his fishing equipment before he realised with a start that he wasn't alone. For there out in the middle of the water were his little buddy and the sweet, adorable Kansas farm girl smooching each other's faces off as though the world were about to end at any moment.

The Skipper's mouth fell open as he stared in awe at this marathon kiss going on and on and on, then he suddenly blushed deep red and turned away, fumbling with his fishing rod and almost dropping his bucket in his haste to escape back the way he'd come. At the top of the path he turned briefly, looked back over his shoulder, and was amazed to see the two of them still going at it. With a final shake of his head, the Skipper lumbered off up the path and decided he'd better go fishing in the sea instead.

# # # #

That evening, after dinner, as Mary Ann and Gilligan strolled back to their hut with their bellies full of blackened fish and roasted vegetables, Mary Ann nudged Gilligan and indicated the moon, which hung fat and low in the sky above them. "Look, Gilligan," she said softly. "It's a full moon."

"I bet it's not as full as me," Gilligan groaned, rubbing his stomach. "I'm stuffed to bursting!"

Mary Ann giggled. "I was thinking. Wouldn't it be nice if tonight, we...you know? Outside."

Gilligan shot his wife a sidelong glance. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Mmm-hmmm. What do you say, Gilligan? It's a clear night, it's warm and dry, the moon's full, and you know all the best places on the island where we won't be seen. Please, Gilligan? Please?"

Gilligan sighed and threw his arms up in a theatrical shrug. "Sure. Why not? Outside, right out in the open."

"Oh, Gilligan! Thank you!" Mary Ann squealed with delight and flung her arms around his neck, jumping up and down. "Oh, Gilligan, it'll be wonderful! Oh, it'll be so romantic! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Gilligan winced, his stomach contents churning as his wife bounced around, clinging to his neck. "Why do I let you talk me into these things?" he muttered.

"Because you love me," Mary Ann said, happily. "And after tonight, you'll love me even more!"

# # # #

They went to their special cloud watching spot atop the cliff and spread their blanket out on the grass. The full moon watched them silently, smiling its sideways smile, promising to keep their secret. It cast its silvery path over the sea, which shushed and rumbled its ceaseless lullaby on the rocks below. Above their heads palm fronds swayed gently in the cool night breeze, and the occasional chitter of bats could be heard. The bats no longer frightened any of them as they had all turned out to be harmless fruit bats, and when evening came and the bats went hunting for insects, Mary Ann and Gilligan would sometimes sit on the beach and watch them flitting to and fro like black dots against the darkening sky.

Mary Ann settled onto the blanket and held her arms out to Gilligan. He lowered himself down next to her and kissed her, and as they kissed, Mary Ann pulled him towards her until they were both lying down, the blanket warm and soft beneath them and the grass crunching quietly underneath.

"Isn't this wonderful?" Mary Ann breathed, running her hands down Gilligan's back and up under the hem of his rugby shirt. "I feel so daring!"

"I feel a breeze up my back," Gilligan said, then went "ouch!" as Mary Ann swatted his arm.

"Can't you be more romantic?" she said. "We're about to make love under the stars."

"Then I don't think it's the breeze on my _back_ I should be worried about," Gilligan retorted, then went "ouch!" again as Mary Ann removed the hat from his head and batted him with it.

"I think you'll feel differently when we've taken our clothes off," Mary Ann smiled. "I'll be your naked Moon Goddess."

Gilligan stared at her, wide eyed. "Why didn't you say that in the first place?" he said, scrabbling to unbutton her blouse.

They undressed quickly, with Gilligan doing most of the removing, muttering all the while about naked Moon Goddesses. When the last stitch of clothing had been cast aside they sat on the blanket and stared at each other, unable to speak for fear of disturbing the moment. Finally Mary Ann got to her feet and loosened her hair so that it fell down over her shoulders. She turned around and let Gilligan see her from all angles.

"What do you think?" she asked, shyly. "Do I make a good naked Moon Goddess?"

Gilligan nodded mutely. He couldn't think of a single thing to say. He thought he'd never seen anything more beautiful than Mary Ann naked in the powdery moonlight. He reached out and stroked her smooth, silky thighs. He gazed up in adoration at her face, half hidden in shadow. He scrambled to his knees and kissed her gently on the stomach. He hoped and prayed fervently for the day when there would be a little Gilligan or Mary Ann in there, who could kiss him back from the other side.

Mary Ann put her hands on his head and curled her fingers through his hair. She sighed as he kissed her a little lower down, and then tipped her head back and moaned as she felt his lips between her legs.

They lay back down on the blanket and Mary Ann lost herself in rapture as her husband brought her slowly and gently to full arousal. Her back arched up off the blanket and she found one of his hands and guided it to her breast, holding it there, his palm rubbing back and forth across her nipple as he continued what he was doing further down. She stroked the dark hairs on his forearm and gripped the hair on his head with her other hand. Finally she thought she could take it no longer, and urged him to make love to her. _I can't wait,_ she told him. _I need it. Now._

Gilligan kissed his way up her body, his lips damp with her arousal. He stopped to give his attention to her breasts, holding himself above her but not touching her, except with his mouth and tongue. Mary Ann writhed under him, driven crazy by the cool air and the heat of his mouth mixed together on her body. Finally he kissed her deeply, his tongue inside her mouth and hers inside his. He reached down with one hand and touched her carefully, making sure she was ready. When she indicated with a soft moan that she was more than ready, he pushed himself inside her and began to make love to her, supporting his weight on his hands and lifting his upper body right off her, which brought more weight down to his hips and allowed him to thrust as hard and as deep as she wanted.

When they had first started making love, this is the bit that he was sure was going to hurt her, but Mary Ann seemed to like this bit the best, and he'd quickly learned that once he really got going, hard and deep was what she craved most of all.

Mary Ann clutched at Gilligan's shoulders as he got into his stride, his hips pistoning into her. On each downstroke she brought her hips up to meet his and soon they were locked in animal combat, their lusty cries carried on the breeze and out towards the moon which stood guard over their secret love nest. Gilligan's skin grew slick with sweat and her hands slipped over his back. She raked her nails over his shoulderblades and gripped his waist with her thighs. His movements became even faster, and then just as suddenly he slowed right down. Mary Ann gasped and held her breath, teetering on the brink. While her mouth hung open, Gilligan lowered his head and kissed her, his tongue exploring everywhere inside her mouth while she moaned in ecstasy. Slowly he inched his way out of her and then pushed his way back in as deep as he could, lifting her hips off the blanket with the force of his thrust. Mary Ann garbled in her throat, knowing she wasn't going to last much longer. Gilligan gave her five or six more of these slow, deep thrusts, then eight to ten rapid ones and that finally tipped her over. She cried out and clung to him as she rode the wave, and shortly afterwards he joined her, his damp head pressed into her neck, fingers digging into her upper arms as he climaxed deep inside her.

When everything had calmed down and Gilligan had stopped shaking from his exertion, he rolled to the side and pulled Mary Ann into their familiar post-coital embrace. She nestled her head onto his chest and listened to the pounding of his heart and the breath whooshing in and out of his lungs.

"Wow," Gilligan uttered. "Wait'll Skinny Mulligan hears I made love to a naked Moon Goddess."

Mary Ann smiled contentedly. "And how," she grinned, nestling her head into his neck.

They dozed off after a while, and when they awoke the moon had risen much higher and was now right above them.

"Guess we fell asleep," Gilligan said with a yawn. "Think we ought to head back?"

"In a little while," Mary Ann said. "I'm kind of happy right here."

Gilligan kissed the top of her head and stroked her shoulder and upper arm. "In that case, so am I."

Mary Ann stared up at the sky. "There's one thing you can say about this place," she sighed. "The skies are so beautiful, day or night. So many stars! Millions upon millions upon millions. You could never count them all. The Professor told me once, that there are more stars in the sky than there are grains of sand on the earth. And they start out like grains of sand but gradually other particles join onto them and they grow and grow and become hotter and hotter and that's how they become stars."

"Wow," Gilligan said. Then he lifted his head and tried to look sideways at Mary Ann. "When did he tell you all that?"

"When I made the mistake of saying I'd just made a wish on a shooting star. I got a full lecture on asteroids and meteorites and the futility of making a wish on a falling lump of molten debris."

"Oh," said Gilligan, his head dropping back onto the blanket. "That sounds like the Professor all right."

Mary Ann snuggled closer to Gilligan. "we'll go back to the hut soon," she smiled.

"No rush, Mary Ann," Gilligan said, wrapping both of his arms around her to warm her up. "I'm happy wherever you are."

"It's such a big universe," Mary Ann said quietly. "And yet still we managed to meet each other. Don't you think that's a miracle, Gilligan?"

Above them the moon silently nodded in agreement, its cheery face beaming down on them as they lay in each others arms and wondered at the fates that had brought them together.

Below them, the earth spun on its never ending journey round the sun.

And deep within Mary Ann, unbeknownst to either of them, one tiny cell that was different from all the others trembled and divided into two.


	11. Life Begins

_Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing this continuing saga. Your comments, ideas and friendship are greatly appreciated, probably more than you know._

# # # #

Mary Ann would say as the months went by that she knew the exact moment she conceived, but she didn't. She lay in Gilligan's arms for most of that night under the stars and they talked about this and that and looked at the moon and listened to the rhythmic whisper and shout of the waves on the rocks below. _The whole of life follows a rhythm,_ she'd said. _Like a drum beat,_ Gilligan had answered, _like headhunters' drums calling their tribes to battle._ Then he'd scared himself, and so they'd picked themselves up, dusted themselves off, got dressed, folded their blanket and walked home carefully through the dark, holding hands and trying not to frighten each other. By that stage, small harmless mammals darting through the foliage ahead of them were enough to do that.

Mary Ann would say as the months went by that even Gilligan knew, as he seemed to become more loving and attentive than ever. But he didn't. He just knew that making love to Mary Ann under the stars was one of the most wonderful things he'd ever done in his life, and from that moment on he felt a love for her that was stronger and deeper than he'd ever have thought possible. He knew then that if a headhunter did leap out of the jungle waving a cutlass he would take the blow without a second thought if it meant that Mary Ann could get away. Gilligan always put other people first, but this was a new type of feeling altogether. Instead of making him feel inferior and inadequate, it made him feel brave and unconquerable- Mary Ann's provider and Mary Ann's protector. He wished he could let Mary Ann's family know how much he loved her. All he could do was tell the moon, and hope the moon would pass his message on.

Two weeks later, Ginger began experiencing the familiar aches and pains of menstruation. Ever the actress, she moaned spectacularly, though only in front of Mary Ann. While Ginger lay on the bed grumbling about how much she hated herself, Mary Ann bit the inside of her lip and stared down at her own midriff, flat and bronzed above the waistband of her little shorts. _Mine hasn't started yet,_ she thought, and began to get excited. By the time she returned to Gilligan her thoughts were a-jumble and she knew her eyes were sparkling and when he asked her why she was so happy she had to make up something about seeing a rare butterfly, which of course got him all excited, and subsequently they sat for the entire afternoon in the middle of the jungle with a butterfly net and a canteen of water waiting for a creature that didn't exist.

Another week later, when her period still hadn't come, Mary Ann finally confided in Ginger. She sat next to the movie star on Ginger's bed and stared at her friend with imploring eyes. _What should I do?_ she asked.

When she'd stopped squealing with excitement and hugging the breath out of Mary Ann, Ginger clasped her hands to her chin and smiled with the light of a million suns. _You'll have to tell Gilligan,_ she said.

_I can't, not yet. I'm panicking enough without Gilligan panicking too,_ Mary Ann sighed. Her hand automatically went to her stomach. _I'll have to see the Professor. _She reached for Ginger's hand and clasped it tightly. _Will you come, too?_

_Sweetie, you just try and stop me,_ the movie star said, and they looked at each other and Mary Ann broke into a nervous but excited smile and Ginger started squealing yet again.

# # # #

Ginger and Mary Ann stood like two schoolgirls in the supply hut, giggling and clutching each other's hands with their fingers firmly entwined.

The Professor, who had been peacefully reading his book, got to his feet and sighed. "What have you girls done now?" he asked, looking them over with a twinkle in his eye.

"You tell him," said Mary Ann, bashfully.

"No, you tell him!" grinned Ginger, giving Mary Ann a nudge.

"Somebody had better tell me, or I may have to resort to tickling," the Professor smiled, putting his arms out towards Ginger, who batted her eyelashes at him and made as if to duck behind Mary Ann.

"You better tell him, Mary Ann," she giggled.

"Okay," Mary Ann said, clearing her throat and taking a firm stance. "Professor?"

"Yes, Mary Ann?" The Professor said, still looking at Ginger.

"My period didn't come," Mary Ann blurted.

The Professor stopped in his tracks and his head snapped round, his eyes fixed firmly on Mary Ann. "I beg your pardon, Mary Ann?"

Mary Ann shuffled nervously. "My period, Professor. It didn't come. I _missed _it."

Ginger nodded, her expression now very serious. "And you know what _that_ means," she said in a low, ominous tone.

"I know what it implies," the Professor said, carefully. "And I think I know what _you_ think it means."

"And I think I know what you think we think it means," Ginger replied.

"And I think I know what you think about me thinking I know what you think it means," said the Professor.

"I think you're right," said Ginger, her flame red hair bobbing with every nod of her head.

"I think I'm pregnant!" cried Mary Ann.

The Professor ushered Mary Ann to his recently vacated seat. He made sure she was calm and comfortable and got her a cup of fresh water from the barrel by the door, then he set about panicking himself. "Pregnant, pregnant...let's see, pregnant," he muttered, pacing up and down the supply hut. He raked his fingers through his hair making it stand up Stan Laurel style while sweat patches appeared under his arms. Meanwhile, Ginger and Mary Ann watched, entranced, as his reached the wall and turned again, his deck shoes creating a well-worn path through the sand.

"Do you want me to come back another time?" asked Mary Ann at last.

"No! No, I'm fine," the Professor stuttered. "It's just, well...this is all happening so fast!"

"Well, we _were_ trying," said Mary Ann, anxiously twisting the hem of her blouse.

"I know, I know, it's not that. It's..." The Professor stopped and stared at Mary Ann. "Well, for heaven's sake, here I am panicking and I haven't even said congratulations!" He came forward and put his hands on Mary Ann's shoulders, beaming at her. "Mary Ann, this is wonderful news! Have you said anything to Gilligan yet?"

Mary Ann shook her head. "Have I said anything to Gilligan yet? No, Professor! That's why we're here! To make sure I _am_ pregnant! Can you imagine if I told Gilligan and he got all excited and then it turned out to be a false alarm?" She stared up at him, her face creased with worry.

"Yes, Professor. You really need to make sure Mary Ann is pregnant," Ginger said innocently, her face a picture of grim concern.

The Professor sighed. He looked from one to the other, his shoulders visibly slumping. "There's no way I'm going to get out of this, is there?" he said, resignedly.

Both girls shook their heads slowly and in silence.

"You girls are going to drive me into an early grave," he sighed.

Ginger patted his arm. "Just make sure that Mary Ann is pregnant first," she said.

# # # #

Ginger and Mary Ann left the supply hut with a list of symptoms to look out for.

"My breasts definitely feel tender," Mary Ann said. "But I thought that was just because Gilligan likes playing with them so much."

Ginger covered her mouth with her hand and coughed daintily.

"And I have been feeling very tired lately, but that's because Gilligan keeps me up all night..."

Ginger coughed again, more pointedly this time, causing Mary Ann to shake her head and smile naughtily. "With his _talking_, I meant. Honestly, I don't know how the Skipper ever got any sleep. Last night he had this whole discussion with himself about who would win in a fight, an alien or a zombie. One night I swear, I'm going to tie a gag round his mouth."

"He might like that," Ginger said with a sly wink.

"If it means peace and quiet for the whole night, I'll like it too," Mary Ann smiled. "Remind me to ask the Skipper what _his _solution was."

"I have an idea," Ginger said as they reached the communal table and sat down. "Just tell him if he doesn't be quiet, the baby won't get any sleep and babies need lots of sleep to grow up big and strong!"

They were still hunched over and giggling at Ginger's idea when the red-shirted subject of their discussion arrived with a basket of freshly harvested fruit, the machete dangling from his belt and a tired but happy look on his face. "Hey, girls," he grinned, hefting the basket onto the table. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing," Ginger smiled back, primping her already perfect hair.

"What have you got there, Gilligan?" Mary Ann asked quickly, before the interrogation started. She pulled the basket towards her and peered in.

"Oh, just some bananas and papayas," he said, unhooking his belt and removing the machete. "Be careful though, some of the papayas are a little squishy." He laid the machete on the table and sat down, taking off his hat and pushing the sweaty hair off his forehead.

His information came a little too late for Mary Ann who had stuck her nose right into the basket. A warm wave of sickly sweet aromas came up from the overripe fruit and assailed her nostrils, clinging to the inside of her head and battling its way down to her stomach which began churning in waves of its own. Her head began to swim and her eyes began to water. Ginger and Gilligan's voices began to recede into the distance. Her hand flew to her mouth and she just had time to turn away from the table and clutch Ginger's arm before she leaned over and heaved the contents of her stomach all over the ground.

Gilligan got to his feet so fast his chair fell over. "Mary Ann!" he cried. He rushed to her side and put his arm around her, holding the hair away from her face while she gasped and heaved. "Skipper, Professor!" he yelled. "Help! Skipper, Professor!"

"Gilligan, Gilligan- it's all right," Ginger tried soothing the first mate, but he was having none of it.

"Skipp_errrr_! Profess_orrrrr_!" he bawled, pulling Mary Ann against his body, rocking his wife to and fro, watching helplessly as she heaved again, coughing nothing but strings of liquid out of her mouth.

Everyone came running at the sound of Gilligan's panicked cries. After six years they were all used to him overreacting to the smallest things but this time it was different. This time there was a fearful, high pitched edge to his voice which spelled danger.

"What is it, Gilligan?" the Skipper got there first, running surprisingly fast for a man of his size. He stopped dead when he saw what had happened. "What's wrong with Mary Ann?"

"I don't know, but she's sick! Real sick!" Gilligan cried. "You gotta do something, Skipper!"

Ginger rose from the bench in one fluid motion and quickly pulled the flustered Skipper to one side as the Professor arrived, closely followed by the Howells. Mrs. Howell was waving her fan and saying _goodness me, what a shocking din!_

"I'd better tell you, Skipper," Ginger said, keeping her voice low. "We think Mary Ann is pregnant, but we haven't told Gilligan yet. The smell of the fruit made her throw up."

The Skipper blanched. "You _what_? You think...? You do...? You haven't...?" His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for oxygen. "You say...you mean...you think..._pregnant_?"

Ginger nodded. "The Professor thinks she's showing early signs," she said, adopting her serious tone again. "And throwing up is one of them."

A gamut of emotions flew across the Skipper's face as he watched his little buddy. Gilligan was in a complete panic now, protesting loudly and refusing to let go of Mary Ann. The Professor was kneeling in front of them and doing his best to console the boy.

"Gilligan, it's all right. Listen to me. Nothing is wrong. Mary Ann will be fine." He handed Mary Ann a cup of water which the girl accepted gratefully. She wiped her mouth on a handkerchief Gilligan had pulled out of his back pocket. Unfortunately the handkerchief also smelled of fruit and she gagged again, narrowly missing Gilligan's shoes.

"Oh yeah? Then why is she sick, Professor? Why is she sick? You don't just get sick! She only smelled the fruit, and..."

"Gilligan," Mary Ann moaned, "please don't mention the fr..." she leaned forward and groaned loudly, but by now there was nothing left inside of her to throw up.

Gilligan shot the Professor a look of accusation. "What's wrong with her, Professor? You better tell me before I get mad!"

The Professor looked up at all the expectant faces around him. On one side of him stood the Howells. Mr. Howell's chin jutted inquisitively, Mrs. Howell fanned her face and leaned against her husband for support. On the other side, the Skipper and Ginger stood together clutching each other's arms. The Skipper's face was a very odd colour- pink cheeked but pale underneath. In front of him sat Gilligan, narrow eyed and obstinate, holding a pale faced and sweating Mary Ann tightly against him. Everyone was waiting for an answer. The Professor sighed. He reached out and put his hand on Gilligan's shoulder and looked directly into the first mate's eyes. "May I tell him, Mary Ann?" he asked.

"I'll tell him, Professor," Mary Ann said, sitting up straight. She pushed the hair out of her eyes. She kicked sand over the puddle in front of them and then she turned to Gilligan, who still hadn't released her from his iron grip. "Gilligan," she said slowly, "I didn't want to tell you right away, not until I was certain, but I don't want you to worry. The fact is, I think...that is, _we_ think..." she looked at the Professor for reassurance, "...I might be pregnant."

Amid the sudden chorus of oohs and aahs and other happy noises which greeted this information, Gilligan stared at his wife and blinked. "Pregnant?" he whispered at last. "You mean, pregnant with a _baby_?"

Mary Ann nodded.

"It's not poison mushrooms?"

Mary Ann shook her head. "It's not poison mushrooms."

"It's not a bug bite?"

"It's not a bug bite."

"It's a baby? A real live _baby?_" Gilligan shook his head along with Mary Ann as she smiled at him, the love shining out of her eyes.

"If it turns out I'm pregnant, then yes, it's our baby, Gilligan. Our baby." she clasped his hands and grinned her widest, most toothy grin.

Gilligan's mouth opened and closed. "Our baby," he repeated, as though trying the words out for size. "Our baby. Our baby, our baby..._our baby_?"

"Congratulations, little buddy!" the Skipper cried at last, freeing himself from Ginger's clutches and rushing over to pump Gilligan's hand up and down. "Congratulations! Oh, you've just about made me the happiest man alive! Oh, little buddy...you're going to be a father!"

Gilligan finally had to let go of Mary Ann so that he could try and extricate his hand from the Skipper's vice like grip. "Skipper...Skipper, you're hurting me," he said through grinning, gritted teeth as the Skipper continued shaking his whole arm and half of his body as well.

"Hear that everybody?" the Skipper shouted. "My little buddy's going to be a father!"

"Now, Skipper, we don't know for sure yet," said the Professor, but it was too late. Like a lid being lifted off a pressure cooker, everyone began shouting and cheering, except for Mrs. Howell who gave a dainty _oh, how marvellous! _

Mr. Howell enveloped the first mate in an all-encompassing embrace and promptly burst into tears. "I'm going to be a grandfather!" he sobbed. "Wait 'til the New York Stock Exchange hears about this!"

Meanwhile, the girls hovered over Mary Ann, wiping her face with clean handkerchiefs and kissing her on both cheeks.

"No more hard work for you, my dear!" Mrs. Howell said assertively. "Ginger must do your share from now on!"

"Is that so?" the movie star pouted. "Then maybe Ginger ought to get herself pregnant, too!"

Mary Ann laughed at the resulting expression of shock on Mrs. Howell's face. "I'm sure it's okay for me to carry on working, Mrs. Howell," she smiled. "Besides, I'd get very bored sitting around being waited on hand and foot all day."

"Oh, I don't know dear," Mrs. Howell said, tapping Mary Ann's forearm with her fan, "it's surprising how quickly one gets used to it."

Gilligan, meanwhile, was standing in the midst of the men with a goofy grin of disbelief plastered on his face. "Gee, this is all happening so fast," he said as the Skipper fussed over him like a mother hen. "I didn't think I'd be a father this quickly!"

"Yee-es," Mr. Howell drawled, "at least it proves one thing- it's only your head that's empty."

Gilligan gave the millionaire one of his puzzled frowns. "Huh?"

"Never mind, my boy, never mind." The wily old millionaire grinned wolfishly.

The Professor looked over at Mary Ann, who was sitting with her hands firmly clasped over her stomach. "The sickness is certainly a strong early sign of pregnancy," he mused aloud, "believed to be caused by changing hormones. You see, the embryo will have implanted itself in the womb lining..."

Gilligan's goofy grin slipped a bit. "The where?"

"The womb lining. It's where the baby grows, Gilligan. Inside the mother's uterus."

"Oh, yeah. Her belly," the first mate nodded. "I remember that bit," he said as an aside to Mr. Howell, who nodded in agreement.

"My boy, you soak up information like a sieve," he remarked drily.

"Mr. Howell, don't you mean 'sponge'?" asked the Skipper.

"No," said Mr. Howell. "I mean 'sieve'. Full of holes."

"A sponge is full of holes too," Gilligan said.

"Agh!" Mr. Howell exclaimed, wincing as though he'd been struck. "_Must_ they answer back? Yale men, the pair of them!"

"If you'll allow me to continue?" said the Professor, his arms folded as though addressing three naughty schoolboys. "As I was saying, fluctuating hormone levels may also heighten sense of smell, which means Mary Ann may find her nausea triggered by the olfactory stimulation caused by certain foodstuffs such as the overripe papayas in that basket you brought back, Gilligan."

"Huh?" said Gilligan.

"The smell of rotten fruit made Mary Ann sick," the Professor explained.

The Skipper took off his hat and whacked Gilligan over the head with it. "That was _your_ fault."

Gilligan rubbed his head and pouted at the Skipper. "Well how was I supposed to know?"

"Gilligan's right," the Professor smiled. "No-one knows exactly what causes or triggers pregnancy sickness. But I'm afraid once it starts, it can last for anything up to twelve weeks."

Gilligan's face fell. "Twelve weeks?" he gulped. "Mary Ann's gonna be sick for twelve weeks?"

"Not constantly," the Professor said, feeling a sudden wave of sympathy for the hesitant and oddly innocent young couple. "And not always caused by the same thing. But she will need to maintain her nutrition levels if she's going to be purging regularly. That means 'throwing up', Gilligan. And of course, she'll need extra care and attention. It can't be much fun for her, after all."

"Poor Mary Ann," the Skipper said quietly.

"We'll give her the best care money can buy!" exclaimed Mr. Howell, waving his hand in the air as though he were carrying a sword.

"I hope she doesn't hate me," said Gilligan, picking nervously at his fingers.

# # # #

"Why would I hate you, Gilligan?" Mary Ann lay in her old bed in the girls' hut so that Ginger could keep an eye on her. Gilligan had followed them in however, and refused to leave Mary Ann's side. He sat on a chair and held her hand in his lap, gently rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles.

"Because I made you sick," Gilligan said softly.

"I'm only sick because I'm probably pregnant," Mary Ann smiled.

"And because I made you probably pregnant," Gilligan responded.

Mary Ann squeezed his fingers. "I'm glad you made me pregnant, silly."

Gilligan smiled sheepishly. "I didn't know it would make you throw up," he said. "Does it hurt?"

"Throwing up, or being pregnant?"

Gilligan shrugged. "I don't know. I'm afraid to ask."

"It doesn't hurt," Mary Ann said, squeezing his thumb.

"Well, tell me if it ever does, okay?" Gilligan said, reaching over to pull a few strands of hair away from her mouth. "And I'll try to make it better. Even if I don't know how."

"Oh, Gilligan," Mary Ann smiled. "You make it better just by being here."

# # # #

After finally leaving Mary Ann's side in order for her to take a nap, Gilligan wandered down to the shore line by the lagoon. He brought his fishing line but wasn't really in the mood for fishing, his mind being so preoccupied with Mary Ann's condition and all the different and confusing emotions that had resulted from it. He propped the pole against a nearby boulder and did some beachcombing instead. He found a smooth sliver of blue glass and a pebble that had a pattern on it like a spiral. _I'll start a collection for my baby,_ he decided, a_nd Mary Ann will like it that I'm doing something useful, and maybe it'll take her mind off being sick. _He pocketed them both and carried on walking with his eyes fixed on the ground. After a hundred yards or so, having found nothing else that he thought would be of interest to a baby, he turned around and went back to his original starting point. He lifted his gaze only at the last minute and was surprised to see he wasn't alone any more. Ginger was there, perched on the rock, sunning herself in the afternoon rays. She smiled at him and patted the rock beside her. He went over and sat down, tilting his own face up towards the sun.

"You've come a long way, Gilligan," the movie star said with a smile in her voice.

"No," he said, pointing down the beach. "Only from over there."

"I meant, since we've been shipwrecked."

"You mean a long way from Hawaii?"

"I mean _you_, Gilligan. _You've _come a long way."

Gilligan squinted at her with the sun in his eyes. "I don't get it," he said.

"Gilligan," Ginger laughed. "When we were first shipwrecked, you were like a shy, frightened fawn. You ran a mile as soon as I came anywhere near you. In fact, you were positively terrified of me. And now look at you. Married, and with a baby on the way."

"I was not positively terrified of you!" Gilligan said indignantly, then shrugged dismissively. "I just had other things to do, that's all."

"Like what?" Ginger teased. "Run away and hide?"

"Well," said Gilligan, gearing up for the defence, "I never met anyone who tried to kiss me so many times as you did."

"I was only playing," Ginger said, her eyes still closed against the heat of the sun. "Don't you like my little games?"

"Yeah, I like them," Gilligan said. "I like them the same way I like being hit with Skipper's hat. They're a necessary part of my existence."

Ginger's eyes opened wide, then she immediately ducked her head as the full glare of the sun hit her retinas. When she opened them again, Gilligan was grinning at her, a teasing expression in his eyes. "'A necessary part of your existence'?" she scowled.

"Yeah. Like spiders or ants. I've learned to live with them."

Ginger scowled harder. "So! I'm like a spider or an ant, am I?"

"Yeah. More like a tarantula though, or like a black widow."

"A black widow?" Ginger feigned outrage. "How dare you! Well, you know what you're like? You're like...a woodlouse!"

"Woodlice are cute," Gilligan grinned. "Especially the baby ones."

"Well, then, you're like a...a...bat! An ugly bat. With evil eyes and a horrible flat nose."

Gilligan laughed. "So when you try to kiss me, you're kissing an ugly bat with evil eyes and a flat nose, ha ha." He jumped off the rock as Ginger started hitting him playfully, swatting at his arms and shoulders. "Stop it, Ginger, or I'll throw you in the lagoon!"

Ginger became breathless with laughter. She scooped up some sand and threw it at Gilligan. "I don't know why I thought you'd come a long way. You're still a little boy," she sighed. "And you always will be."

Gilligan plucked the pebble with the spiral shape out of his pocket and showed it to Ginger. "Look," he said. "I'm starting a collection of things for the baby, when it comes. See?"

"You want to make sure it doesn't put that in its mouth," Ginger told him.

"Oh, I will. I'll watch him...or her, like a hawk all day long." Gilligan made a hawk face, glaring at Ginger through beady eyes. "Anyway, if you see anything you think a baby might like, will you keep it for my collection?"

Ginger put her hands firmly on either side of Gilligan's face and planted her lips squarely on his forehead with a loud smack.

"_Gingerrrrr!_" he protested, flapping at her with his arms outstretched.

"Consider it done, Gilligan," the movie star smiled teasingly. "If I see anything that I think _you'd_ like, I know a baby will like it too."

# # # #

That night, Mary Ann lay curled up against Gilligan's side. She hadn't been able to eat much at dinner, but she hadn't thrown up and no-one except Gilligan had noticed she was only pushing her food around her plate, because everyone else was too busy toasting the baby and drinking Mr. Howell's special celebratory brandy. Half way through the meal Gilligan slipped his arm around her waist and drew her closer to him. He eased his hand under her blouse and onto her stomach and the feel of his warm caress comforted her and reminded her she had another mouth to feed. In the end she managed a whole piece of grilled fish and a slice of her own banana crème pie. Gilligan ate three slices. When they returned to their hut, Mary Ann crawled into bed right away, saying her back ached. Gilligan climbed in beside her. It was still only early and they were both still fully clothed. It just felt like the right thing to do.

"The Professor said it's probably ninety percent likely that I am definitely pregnant," Mary Ann said, playing with the collar of Gilligan's rugby shirt.

"Good, because I've already started a collection for our baby and I'm not putting everything back now." he replied. "I've got some coloured glass, some pebbles, an old eggshell, some feathers, my favourite bubblegum cards and my best comic book. Oh, and Ginger said I could have an old bracelet of hers."

"You know that babies put things in their mouths?" Mary Ann said.

"I know. I told Ginger I'd watch him or her like a hawk." He demonstrated his hawk face for her, which made her laugh. "Mary Ann, have I come a long way?"

Mary Ann smiled at her husband's look of perplexity. "From where? From Hawaii?"

"No, not from Hawaii. It's just something Ginger said. I've come a long way. Not from anywhere. Just me."

Mary Ann kissed the side of his face and nuzzled her lips against his neck. "You have come a long way, Gilligan. Perhaps a longer way than any of us."

"I think you've come a long way too, Mary Ann," Gilligan said. "After all, Kansas is pretty far."

"Yes, it is, Gilligan," Mary Ann said, tucking herself closer into his side. "It's very far."

"They say home is where the heart is," said Gilligan. "And I know where my heart is." He tapped his chest. "It's right here."

Mary Ann put her ear to his chest and listened to the solid, steady thumping of his heart. _The whole of life follows a rhythm_.

Gilligan kissed the top of her head and wrapped his arms safely around her. "So if home is where the heart is, and our hearts are right here, that means our baby won't have to come a long way, because when he arrives, he'll already be home. He won't be shipwrecked, like us." He frowned. "Did that make any sense?" he asked. "'cause I know I confuse even myself sometimes."

"It made perfect sense," Mary Ann smiled, hugging him tightly. "Perfect, perfect sense."

Gilligan smiled up at the ceiling. "Wow," he grinned. "I said something right, for once."


	12. Gilligan's Way

"Of all the people who ever washed ashore here, why couldn't one of them have been a midwife?" The Professor sighed. He was sitting at the table in the supply hut with his entire collection of scientific journals and medical books spread out around him. His hair was sticking up on end and his shirt was damp with perspiration, not all of it caused by the ridiculously high temperatures the island had been experiencing lately. He slumped forward with his chin in his hands and sighed again, more pointedly this time. "I don't think I'm cut out for this, Ginger. I really don't."

Ginger was sitting on a chair near the door, fanning her face with a palm leaf. "Everything will be all right, Professor," she said gently. "We're all here to help if you need it. Mary Ann's in very safe hands."

The Professor looked up and fixed the movie star with a reluctant smile. "I know, Ginger, and I'm very grateful to have such a team behind me. But I'm not a trained obstetrician and I've never delivered a baby before. I just hope I'm up to the task."

Ginger rose from the chair and put her palm leaf down. She crossed the room as though gliding and stood behind the Professor with her hands on his shoulders. She began kneading gently, her long, supple fingers working away at the knots of tension at the base of his neck. "Poor Professor," she murmured.

"Poor Mary Ann," the Professor murmured back. "Having to rely on me to see her through."

Ginger smiled. "What do I keep telling you? There are six others of us on this island. None of us are trained, but all of us can read."

The Professor picked up one of the larger, thicker books and waved it in the air. "This one has plenty of information on the gestation period of the African elephant and the the ocean dwelling manatee. But nothing on human pregnancy. And this one," he put the big book down and pointed at a smaller one with a red cover, "this talks about plant reproduction. It goes into the most amazing details about sexual and asexual fertilization. But nothing about human pregnancy. And that one," he indicated yet another weighty tome, "that one tells you everything you need to know about how the universe was formed from miniscule motes of dust and tiny wisps of gas. But nothing, nothing about human pregnancy!"

"And what about this one?" Ginger reached over his shoulder and picked up a comic book with a bright yellow cover. "_'Zorro Meets The Wolfman'_."

"That's Gilligan's," the Professor sighed. "He was in here earlier. _Again._"

Ginger laughed softly. "He's nothing if not protective of Mary Ann."

"I know, and it's admirable the way he wants everything explained. But it just goes in one ear and out the other and five minutes later, he's back to ask exactly the same thing. I swear, Ginger, he thinks he's showing pregnancy symptoms himself. Back ache, tiredness, mood swings..."

"He shows those symptoms frequently," Ginger said, shaking her head fondly. "Especially when Skipper wants him to go to work."

"I feel as though I'm looking after two patients, not one. And I'm pretty sure Mr. Howell will come up with something sooner or later just so that he isn't left out. "

Ginger squeezed the Professor's shoulders and ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. "Stop worrying," she laughed. "It's not constructive."

The Professor reached for her hand and pulled it round to his lips. He kissed her fingers and let out a chuckle. "I know, I say it enough times myself, but it's easier said than done."

Ginger leaned down and rested her cheek against the top of his head. "Poor Professor," she whispered again.

It wasn't long before their peaceful, tender moment was shattered by the arrival of the red shirted first mate knocking on the supply hut door. "Professor, hey, Professor?"

The Professor disengaged Ginger's arms from around his neck and sat up straighter in the chair as though he were a doctor awaiting his next appointment. "Yes, Gilligan," he said wearily. "What is it now?"

Gilligan entered the supply hut clutching his lower abdomen. "I think I might have water retention!"

The Professor and Ginger exchanged a pained look while Gilligan stood there staring from one to the other, awaiting a reply to his latest complaint.

"Oh, _Gilligan!_" they both sighed, as one.

# # # #

"Gilligan." The Skipper was not in the best of moods. It was blisteringly hot on the beach, and they hadn't yet caught a single fish for supper. "Will you stop acting up and help me catch some fish, or there won't be anything to eat tonight except more bananas!"

"But I like bananas," Gilligan muttered.

"And stop standing like that!"

Gilligan was standing with his legs straight and feet apart, his stomach thrust out and hands placed squarely in the middle of his back. "It's the only way to relieve my back ache," he said.

Skipper took his hat off and waved it at Gilligan. "Any minute now I'll give you a headache to take your mind off your back ache," he grumbled. "For the last time, _you_ are not pregnant, Gilligan. Men do not get pregnant."

"I didn't say I was pregnant," Gilligan pouted. "I just said I had back ache." But he knew better than to prolong an argument with the Skipper, and bent down with a grimace to retrieve his fishing pole from the sand.

"Well, boo-hoo," Skipper muttered. "I reserve all my sympathy for poor Mary Ann. She's the one who needs it, not you."

Gilligan mouthed a few whiny insults behind his big buddy's back, but after casting his line into the sea, he soon got into the swing of fishing. After landing several fat, shiny specimens onto the sand, he stood proudly over his catch and beamed at the Skipper, who hadn't yet caught any. "Not bad going, huh, Skipper?" he grinned. "I'll let you have one if you're nice to me."

"Nobody likes a show off," the Skipper retorted. "You must have been using different bait."

"No, same bait as you," Gilligan said. "Maybe it was my hormones."

The Skipper almost dropped his pole. "Gilligan, will you stop that? _No-one_ can detect your hormones! And certainly not the _fish_!"

"Well then, how come you haven't caught any?" Gilligan said, smugly.

The Skipper rolled his eyes and stared hard at Gilligan. "Because I'm not pregnant!" It was a couple of seconds before Skipper realised what he'd just said, but by that time Gilligan and his bucket of fish were safely out of cap slapping range. "Gilligan, I have really had enough of this pretend pregnancy!"

"How do you think I feel?" Gilligan retorted, "I'm the one who's not having a baby!"

# # # #

Mary Ann was sitting at the table in the clearing when Skipper and Gilligan returned from the beach with their catch. She was sipping a bamboo mug of sweetened herbal tea and looked tired but happy. Gilligan went immediately over to her and kissed the top of her head, standing behind her and murmuring sweet nothings with his fingers wound lovingly in her pigtails.

Watching Gilligan fuss over his wife, Skipper had to admit that however annoying Gilligan could be, he was certainly a devoted husband. For all his clumsy ineptitude elsewhere, he seemed to know exactly what to do when he was with Mary Ann, and there was no doubt that he took care of her needs to the very best of his abilities. Perhaps this ridiculous phantom pregnancy was just an extension of his desire to make sure Mary Ann didn't feel alone in her ordeal. Maybe it was just his way of saying I know what you're going through, I feel your pain. Only in Gilligan's case, he was doing it literally. Which of course, was Gilligan's way.

Gilligan's billing and cooing didn't last long though, as the smell of fish on his hands made Mary Ann go green. In the next moment she was up from the table and running off into the bushes to be sick. Gilligan stood and stared at the Skipper with a mixture of despair and acceptance. Mary Ann was now eight weeks into her pregnancy and everyone was used to her sudden disappearing acts. They had been quite bad at first, but seemed to be tailing off in the last couple of weeks. It was only certain smells that did it now. Unfortunately fish was one of them.

By the time Mary Ann returned to the table, Gilligan had scrubbed his hands with soap to get rid of the fish and was waiting with a damp cloth and a bowl of warm water. He mopped her brow and wiped her face and neck and gave her some mango juice to drink. Soon her wave of nausea had subsided completely and she was back to her usual self, although a little pale still. Gilligan sat next to her and began watching her every move until she smiled at him and told him she was all right. _Honestly, Gilligan, I won't break, _was something she had become used to saying over the past eight weeks.

"I wish we could catch something else besides fish," Gilligan said, re-tying her pigtail. "It's not right that the main thing we eat makes you sick when you smell it."

"Oh, I'm all right once it's been cooked," Mary Ann said. "It's just when it's fresh."

"I don't know what else we can catch," Gilligan went on, fastening her blue ribbon into a bow. "There's some kind of big rat thing I've seen on the other side of the island..."

"I am not eating a big rat thing," Mary Ann said, pulling a face.

"I'm kind of glad you said that," Gilligan confessed. "I don't like the thought of trying to trap one of those, 'cause then I'd have to kill it. And then I'd have to skin it. And then I'd have to chop it up into little pieces. And then..."

"Gilligan, please," said Mary Ann. "Really, I'm absolutely fine." She sipped at her mango juice. "Anyway, the Professor said I should get over the sickness soon. He said that a lot of women go on to blossom in the later stages of pregnancy. Their hair gets thicker and shinier, and their skin improves and they become happy and excited."

"Really?" said Gilligan.

# # # #

Gilligan peered into the mirror in the Skipper's hut. Although he didn't technically live there any more, he was in and out every five minutes to the point where the Skipper would say things like _did_ _she throw you out again, little buddy? _He had removed his hat and was raking his fingers through his hair, parting it this way and that, pulling hanks of it over his forehead then pushing it back to inspect his hairline. "Skipper? Does my hair look any different to you?" he asked with a studious frown on his face.

"No, Gilligan," the Skipper said. He was at the table sorting through the tool box, checking blades and tightening up loose screws and trying- unsuccessfully- to ignore Gilligan's intrusion. "It looks the same as it always does, like the hut roof after a storm."

"You don't think it's looking thicker?" the first mate said, tilting his head to the right and peering at the hair behind his ear.

The Skipper sighed and looked up. He caught his little buddy's eye in the mirror. "Your hair doesn't look any thicker to me, Gilligan, but I'm afraid I can't say the same about your head."

"Really?" said Gilligan, ignoring the 'head' comment. "'Cause I think it looks thicker. Even shinier. Wouldn't you say it looks thicker and shinier, Skipper?"

"Gilligan, I'm trying to work," Skipper said, turning back to the assortment of tools cluttering up the table. "I know it's a foreign concept to you, but someone has to maintain things around here, and right now I'm more interested in shiny tools in working order than the shiny length of your hair. Which needs cutting, by the way."

"There! You see?" Gilligan grinned. He raked his fingers through his locks once more before replacing his hat at a rather jaunty angle. "You do think it looks different!"

"All right, Rapunzel, it looks different!" the Skipper grunted. "Now will you stop admiring yourself and go do some work?"

"My skin's cleared up, too," Gilligan mused, peering at his nose. "I had a little spot here, see? But now it's..." he didn't have time to finish before the Skipper was on his feet and manhandling him bodily out of the hut while he flailed and grabbed at his hat to stop it falling off. "Get to _work_, Gilligan! Fresh air and hard work will clear up your skin, not standing around in the hut and annoying me all day!"

# # # #

Gilligan wandered over to the girls' hut where Ginger was busy fixing her makeup for the hundredth time that day. _How's a girl supposed to maintain cool Hollywood glamour in this heat? _she kept complaining, though none of the other castaways seemed in any way sympathetic to her plight while there was a sick pregnant woman running around. As happy as she was for Mary Ann, Ginger couldn't help feeling just a little envious of all the attention her friend was getting. After all, who exactly was the famous actress around here?

"Knock knock," said Gilligan at the door.

"Who's there?" said Ginger, wiping a little lipstick from the corner of her mouth.

"_'Gee, I, Double Ell, I...'_" Gilligan started singing, then broke off. "Um...I forgot the rest."

Ginger shook her head in fond exasperation. "_'Gee, Ay, En spells Gilligan'_," she finished for him.

"Yeah, Gilligan," said Gilligan. By this time, he'd already ambled into the hut and was standing behind Ginger watching her apply powder to her cheeks. "Are you painting that stuff on _again_?"

"It doesn't last five minutes in this heat," Ginger complained, dabbing excess powder from her nose with a piece of sponge.

"Guess your lipstick doesn't last five minutes when you're with the Professor either," said Gilligan, then jumped back as Ginger turned sharply and fixed him with an indignant glare.

"Gilligan! You take that back," she said, although secretly she was pleased that even Gilligan could tell there was finally something going on between her and the emotionally elusive Roy Hinkley.

"I won't," said Gilligan. "Because it's true. I saw you kissing down by the lagoon. I may not be the sharpest deck of cards in the box but all my sandwiches go to the top floor!"

Ginger sighed and settled back into her seat, lifting the hand mirror to her face and inspecting her eyelashes. "Yes, Gilligan. Anyway, whatever you think is true, I'd take it with a pinch of salt if I were you."

"And a splash of lemon, and a twist of lime, and a sprinkle of cinnamon," said Gilligan, patting his stomach and licking his lips.

"Gilligan ,what is it you came here for?" Ginger asked at last. "Or are you just trying to matchmake the Professor and me?"

"Oh, yeah. Can I borrow your hairbrush?" Ginger watched as Gilligan picked up her hairbrush and removed his hat. "See, I think my hair's getting thicker and shinier," he peered over her shoulder at his reflection the mirror. "Maybe I should look at a new style or something. You're the expert- what do you suggest?"

Ginger pursed her lips as the first mate almost pushed her off the chair leaning down and trying to see himself in the mirror. "How about an extra hole right here for ventilation?" she muttered, tapping the side of his head. "Gilligan, your hair doesn't look any different. Except for the fact that it's a little too close to my face."

"Sorry, Ginger." Gilligan put the hairbrush down and sighed. He jammed his hat back on his head and moved away from the table, drifting aimlessly around the room. "I'm so worried about Mary Ann," he said suddenly.

Ginger immediately stopped what she was doing. She looked over at the first mate who she could see was anxiously biting the inside of his lip. "Is that the real reason why you're here?" she asked, gently.

"No," he said. "It's not the real reason I'm anywhere. But at the same time, it is. I know that doesn't make sense, Ginger. But every day I'm just going from here to there worrying about Mary Ann. She says she's okay, but how do I know? I don't know what happens when a baby grows inside someone. All I know is what I see and what she tells me. She's tired. She's sick. Her back hurts. Sometimes she doesn't like to be touched and other times all she wants to do is hold onto me. I don't know what I should do. I don't think anything I do is enough. I'm the stupidest, dumbest guy she's ever met and I'm gonna be a stupid, dumb father too."

Ginger got up from the table and crossed over to him with a stern look on her face. "All right, Gilligan, now I'm going to tell you to take that back, and this time I really do mean it!" She stood squarely in front of him and took hold of both his hands. "First of all, no-one knows exactly what goes on inside a pregnant woman's body, and certainly no-one on this island, but the Professor is smart and intelligent enough to work out the stages of Mary Ann's pregnancy, so you don't need to worry about that. Second of all, you've never been a father before, so of course this is all new to you. But you mustn't be so hard on yourself." Ginger raised one hand when she saw that Gilligan was about to start protesting. "I know, Gilligan, being hard on yourself is your favourite hobby. But I'm tired of hearing you say how useless you are. You aren't useless. What did I tell you? You've come a long way. You've accepted all the responsibility that comes with being married and having children. Could you have foreseen this for yourself when we washed up on that shore six and a half years ago? No, you wouldn't have dreamed you'd end up like this. So give yourself a break, Gilligan. You're doing all that you can, and you're not alone. You have six friends who love you dearly, and are here to help you every step of the way. Don't you understand that?"

Gilligan looked shyly to one side. "I guess," he murmured.

Ginger gave his hands a shake. "_'I guess'_ isn't good enough, Gilligan."

"Okay. I mean, yes, Ginger. I understand."

Gilligan finally lifted his gaze and looked at Ginger. She thought she had never seen him look so scared. Scared to the very core of his being, not just panicky like he got when anyone mentioned headhunters or when something strange washed up in the lagoon. She couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound like a platitude or a cliché, so instead she put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him gently on the cheek. "You'll be fine, Gilligan," she smiled, looking into the depths of his turquoise eyes. "I promise. Now, would you like me to do something with your hair?"

Gilligan brightened a little. "Sure, Ginger," he nodded, following her back to the table. "Whatever you think is best."

Ginger sat him down and picked up a comb and scissors, and for the next half hour she trimmed his thick, dark locks and listened to him babble on about some turtle eggs that had hatched and how he helped the babies into the ocean so the birds wouldn't eat them. _Far from being the dumbest, __stupidest father, _she thought,_ what a wonderful role model he will be for his child, and how lucky he and Mary Ann are to have each other._

Ginger was so lost in her thoughts that it took her a little while to realise Gilligan had stopped talking, and that was only because the background drone of his voice had suddenly ceased, causing an almost deafening silence to take over.

"Ginger?" Gilligan asked, looking at her reflection in the mirror. "Do you love the Professor?"

Ginger stared back at him. "What kind of a question is that?" she asked back, horrified but secretly thrilled that he'd even suggested the possibility.

Gilligan shrugged. "Just a simple one," he said. "You don't have to answer it if you don't want to."

"Well, I'd prefer not to, Gilligan," she smiled, combing his hair neatly over his ears. "Because I know how bad you are at keeping secrets."

Gilligan's eyes widened. "It's a secret?"

"I didn't say that." Ginger tapped his head with the comb. "Don't try and worm the truth out of me, either. I know how you twist things."

Gilligan went back to looking at his own reflection. "Well, I think it would be neat if you did love him, because then you could get married and have a baby and then our children could grow up together. And also because then Mary Ann wouldn't be alone, and you wouldn't be feeling bad because she was having a baby."

Ginger almost dropped the comb at this revelation. "Who said I was feeling bad because Mary Ann's having a baby?" she said, unable to keep the tremor out of her voice.

"No-one," said Gilligan. "It's just that sometimes you look sad. And you spend a lot of time putting your makeup on and being by yourself." He smoothed his newly trimmed hair down and appraised himself thoroughly, inspecting his reflection from all angles. "I know a lot of things changed when me and Mary Ann got married, but you shouldn't feel left out, Ginger. You're the best friend Mary Ann ever had. You should come over to our hut and visit more often."

"All right then, Gilligan, maybe I will," Ginger said, taken aback by the way Gilligan could make the most astute observations without even realising what he was doing. She _had_ been feeling lonely and left out. After all, she was Ginger Grant, and she was used to being the center of attention. How had Gilligan noticed this? And how long had he known about her growing affection for the Professor before he caught them kissing by the lagoon? True, she'd always had a soft spot for Roy Hinkley, but it had never really progressed the way she had wanted it to. The Professor was very guarded when it came to his own feelings. He'd made it clear on more than one occasion that love was messy and even kissing was undesirable. Yet since Mary Ann and Gilligan's wedding, he had started to come out of his shell a little more, bit by bit, day by day. Like a shy little hermit crab. Perhaps he too, had been struck by the passing of time and the way life goes on, regardless of whether you're along for the ride or not.

Gilligan sat up straight and put his hat back on while Ginger busied herself brushing stray hairs from his shoulders.

"All finished," she said.

"Thanks, Ginger," he smiled. He got to his feet, then he started, as though another idea had come to him. "I know what else I forgot! Here." He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. At first Ginger couldn't see what it was he had hidden in his hand, although she caught a glimpse of something shiny and green. "Remember that broken bracelet you gave me for my baby collection?" He opened his hand and there was her emerald bracelet curled up in his palm. "I fixed it. It wasn't even that broken, just the clasp was a bit bent. I straightened it out, see?" He held it up and showed her how he'd realigned the little hook and eye. "It's still a bit bent, but it works now, here. Hold out your arm."

Ginger held her arm up and Gilligan, with his tongue between his lips, carefully fastened the piece of jewelry around her wrist. "There," he said when he was done. "That's where it belongs. It's too nice for a baby. Like you said, babies only put things in their mouths."

Ginger smiled with delight as she turned her wrist this way and that and all the emerald stones sparkled back at her. "Why, just think. I was ready to throw this out, just because the clasp was damaged," she said. "Thank you, Gilligan. That was very kind of you to fix it."

Gilligan grinned back, pleased with her reaction. "You're welcome," he said. "I guess things aren't always as broke as you think they are, huh?"

Ginger looked at him closely. His expression was as guileless as ever. "No, Gilligan," she said. "I guess they aren't."

# # # #

That evening, at the dinner table, Gilligan put down his fork in the middle of his meal and turned to the Skipper. "Skipper, I have this question I've been meaning to ask. It's kind of important, well, to me anyway, and I've asked Mary Ann, but she doesn't know, so I was wondering if maybe I could ask you."

"If it's about pregnancy symptoms, Gilligan, then I don't know," the Skipper said brusquely, catching Mr. Howell's eye and shaking his head in a resigned fashion.

"No, it's nothing like that." Gilligan looked at the Skipper with his most serious expression, and his next sentence came out in a mad rush. "Skipper, who do you think would win in a fight, an alien or a zombie?"

The Skipper's mouth fell open and several other forks clattered onto plates around the table. "Gilligan!" he spluttered. "Of all the crazy, farfetched, _ridiculous_..."

"I think a zombie," said Ginger immediately.

Gilligan turned to the movie star with a big grin. "I think an alien, 'cause aliens have tentacles that regrow when they get cut off."

"Oh! But you didn't say that," Ginger protested.

"I thought a zombie too," said Mary Ann, "because zombies are already dead."

"That doesn't mean they can't lose in a fight," said Gilligan, sagely.

"A Yale zombie, maybe," Mr. Howell chipped in. "A Harvard zombie would fight to the death!"

"Zombies are already dead, Mr. Howell," Mary Ann reminded him.

"Well then, a Harvard zombie would fight to the death _twice!_"

"Gilligan, what kind of a conversation _is_ this?" the Skipper blustered, staring pointedly at his first mate.

"A fun one, Skipper," said Gilligan. "Because I've been worrying too much lately, and I don't like it. It doesn't solve anything and it just makes me feel bad, and gives me headaches, and backaches and stomach aches and..." he shut up on seeing the Skipper's thunderous expression directed straight at him.

Mary Ann scooted closer to her husband in a show of solidarity. "Gilligan's right," she said. "I've been worrying too much, too. And I think it's been making me feel worse. From now on, I want to be happy and act silly, even when I don't feel well. And I want everyone else to stop worrying, too!" At that, she looked directly over at the Professor, who was caught out at the attention of everyone being drawn to him while he was trying to eat. "So, Professor, who do _you _think would win in a fight? An alien or a zombie?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Roy Hinkley replied, plastering on his best look of detached nonchalance before adding a moment later, "although it depends on how long those alien tentacles are, and the speed at which they regenerate."

"Yay!" cried Gilligan, waving his cup and spilling his juice on the Skipper's arm. "Two for the alien, three for the zombie. Come on Skipper! You too, Mrs. Howell. Alien or zombie?"

"I refuse to be drawn into this debate," the Skipper insisted, but everyone could see he was trying hard to keep a straight face.

"I don't even know what one _wears_ to a fight between an alien and a zombie!" Mrs. Howell cried in despair.

"Zombie, zombie, zombie!" Mary Ann began chanting, and Ginger and Mr. Howell joined in. "Zombie! Zombie! Zombie!"

"Alien! Alien! Alien!" cried Gilligan, with the Professor joining in after a moment of thinking about it.

"Oh, all right!" the Skipper shouted, waving his hands in the air. "_Zombie!_"

"Hooray!" cried the girls and Mr. Howell, bursting into spontaneous applause.

The Professor speared a pineapple chunk with his fork and chewed on it, shaking his head at the childish merriment erupting around him. Gilligan was waving his cup in the air and yelling, and the girls were shrieking with laughter and holding onto each other for support. Mr. Howell was hooting and Mrs. Howell was trying to pretend the whole thing was beneath her. The Skipper had his face in his hands and was saying things like _only you, Gilligan, only you. Alien or zombie, indeed._

The Professor smiled to himself, and in the middle of his smile he caught Ginger looking at him. The bracelet around her wrist was the same colour as her eyes, which sparkled and shone with happiness. She tossed her head and her thick, flame red hair bounced and tumbled over her shoulders before she looked away again, squealing as Gilligan's excited bouncing almost tipped the whole bench over.

_She's beautiful,_ he thought, and realised it was the first time he'd thought it without trying to explain it scientifically.

And then it was Gilligan who caught his eye, and to the Professor's absolute amazement, the first mate raised his cup and winked.


	13. Midnight Munchies

Thanks to JWood201 for the Practise Baby idea. To callensensei, I thought of you when I wrote the Lord Admiral Gilligan dream. And heartfelt thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. ^_^

# # # #

"Gilligaaan."

Aboard his pitching, yawing vessel, Lord Admiral Gilligan turned at the unfamiliar voice that assailed his ears. Why, it sounded like a siren of the deep, a lilting, seductive moan from deep beneath the waves. Such creatures existed only to lure men to their watery deaths. Lord Admiral Gilligan would not succumb!

"Go away, witch!" he cried. He squared his shoulders and set his lips into a resolute line.

"Gilligaaan."

"Begone, harlot! My ears are closed to your putrid cries!"

But what was this? Had the watery witch somehow climbed aboard his ship? He felt a prodding in his back, such as would be made by a blunt object. A belay pin, or an elbow...

"Gilligan! What did you call me?"

Lord Admiral Gilligan turned to face his mysterious assailant. Suddenly the sky darkened, heavy with roiling thunderclouds. The ship lurched over the arched back of a wave. "Go away, evil wraith!" he shouted. "Begone, wretched vagabond!"

"Gilligan? _Gilligan!_ Wake up!"

Gilligan's eyes flew open. What was this? Suddenly he was in bed in a darkened room, and there was someone with him! He scrambled to his knees in the middle of the mattress and with a start, realised he was naked. He quickly pulled the blankets over his exposed crotch. "Avast! Who goes there?" he said, his voice thick with sleep.

"Oh, Gilligan, it's me. Mary Ann! Were you dreaming again?"

Gilligan blinked his eyes and shook his head briefly. He wasn't on a ship at all, he was safe and sound in bed with Mary Ann. "Oh. Yeah, I was," he said sheepishly. "I thought I was in ship's quarters." He climbed back in beside his wife and pulled the blankets up to his chin, murmuring contentedly.

"You called me a watery witch and vagabond," Mary Ann said, but Gilligan could hear in her voice that she was smiling. "Must have been Lord Admiral Gilligan again, hmm?"

"Yeah," he said. "There was this voice, see, a female voice saying '_Gilligaaaaan, Gilligaaaan_,' like a hungry sea monster or something. Boy, I'm sure glad it was just a dream. Now I can go back to sleep." He snuggled down under the covers, getting cosy and comfortable in the warmth created by their combined body heat. He sighed in frustration when a moment or two later he felt a small hand begin to creep stealthily up his body.

Mary Ann put on her best sultry tone, which she still didn't think was as alluring as Ginger's but it nearly always worked on Gilligan whereas Ginger's seduction techniques had only ever scared him witless. "That bit wasn't a dream," she purred, stroking his chest lovingly, lightly scratching his skin with the tips of her nails. "That was me." She tickled his little patch of chest hair and kissed his shoulder once, then twice, then three times, softly and gently.

Gilligan sighed louder this time, and rolled his eyes in the darkness. "Don't tell me, Mary Ann. I know."

"I'm hungry," said Mary Ann.

"You're hungry," sighed Gilligan, at exactly the same time.

No amount of loud, pointed sighing was going to get him a reprieve. Reluctantly he threw back the covers and dragged himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, his bare toes flexing on the warm sandy floor. He pushed his hands through his hair and ran his palms down his face. He stretched his arms out and yawned as widely as the lion he'd once tamed, causing all the muscles and ligaments in his neck and jaw to crackle and pop.

Mary Ann stroked his back, ran her fingers over his shoulderblades. "I wish we had pizza," she said, her voice heavy with longing. "That's all I dream of. Hot pepperoni pizza with black olives and extra thick layers of cheese."

His muscles briefly energised, Gilligan got up, leaving Mary Ann with her hand hovering in mid air. He stumbled around, locating his clothes in the gloom. "You know I would bring you all those things if I could," he muttered. With considerable effort he managed to get his jeans on without putting both feet into the same pants leg and falling over. Then, after dragging his rugby shirt over his head he realised he'd put it on backwards. _Too bad,_ he thought. _I'm too tired to change it._ He found his hat on the floor. He shook the sand out of it and wedged it onto his head. He pushed the hair out of his eyes and finally he leaned down to kiss Mary Ann's forehead. "Banana crème pie okay?" he asked.

"Yes please," she smiled sweetly.

"One piece, or two? Or should I just bring the whole thing?" Gilligan went over to the door and pulled his sneakers on, not even sure if they were on the right feet.

"Bring the whole thing," his wife replied, smacking her lips.

"Okay. The whole thing it is." He pulled open the door and stood on the threshhold of their hut, backlit by the muted glow of the tiki torch that served as their porch light. "I'll be back soon. Don't go anywhere, and don't let anyone in."

"Why would I let anyone in?" Mary Ann asked, hugging the pillow that smelled of his hair. "And by the way, your shirt's on backwards."

"Because you're sweet and kind and you trust everyone, that's why. And I know my shirt's on backwards. I just don't feel like changing it."

"All right, I promise I won't let anyone in, not unless they've got their shirt on backwards and they're carrying a banana crème pie. Oh, but hurry back, Gilligan. I'm starving!"

Gilligan blew Mary Ann a kiss. Then he went out and closed the door behind him.

Gilligan stumbled down the path carrying a small torch he'd lit from the main one. He was already falling asleep again, kept upright only by his desire to carry out his mission and then get back to bed as quickly as possible. He yawned widely and batted away a palm frond, stumbled over a pile of stones. Tonight it was banana crème pie, but it could just as easily have been fish cakes or jelly sand dabs. Mary Ann's food cravings were getting out of control.

Mary Ann was sixteen weeks pregnant now, and her belly was showing. To her own and everyone else's relief her sickness had finally abated but now she was getting food cravings. She had literally begun eating for two. Her short shorts and her jeans had gotten too tight and she'd had to switch to a couple of loose fitting dresses that were a lot more comfortable. While Gilligan was secretly sorry to see the back of her tight fitting clothes, he loved running his hands over her growing baby bump. It made the whole thing much more real. He could see now that things were happening, something was definitely developing in his wife's body, and he was in love with it.

Sometimes they'd sit in the shade of a banana tree down by the lagoon with Mary Ann between Gilligan's outstretched legs, her back against his chest. He would stroke both hands over her belly while she munched happily on one banana after another. They would amuse themselves by coming up with wacky, weird and wonderful names that they knew they'd never use. Zanzibar. Geraldina. Huckleberry. Coconut. Fitzroy. Hopscotch. Ermintrude. They'd laugh at the thought of announcing their new arrival in the middle of the clearing. _Everyone, we'd like you to meet Archie Banana Humpty Dumpty McTickle. _And they'd crease up with laughter, and Gilligan would tighten his arms around Mary Ann and marvel at the idea that another human being was growing inside of his wife, and that he had helped create it._ I got something right at last, _he'd think. And he would remember what Ginger had said.

_Give yourself a break, Gilligan. Don't be so hard on yourself. After all, nobody's perfect._

_Nobody's perfect, _he thought as he stumbled off the path and into the clearing. _But Mary Ann and our baby come pretty close._

Gilligan made his way over to the supply hut and stood quietly outside the door for a moment. He was hesitant to wake up the Professor, but he recalled the last time Mary Ann had sent him out for food in the middle of the night. He'd tried so hard not to make a noise but as he'd crept cautiously around the hut he'd tripped over his untied shoelaces and landed squarely on top of Roy Hinkley while he slumbered. This had resulted in the Professor waking with a start, grabbing Gilligan in a tight headlock and wrestling him to the floor where he'd struggled fruitlessly, spluttering and choking, his mouth full of sand._ It's me, Gilligan! It's me! Don't kill me, Professor, I'm not a headhunter! _

_Well, for goodness sakes, Gilligan! Next time, warn me you're likely to be sneaking around my hut in the middle of the night, _the Professor had grumbled, removing his arm from its tight grip around the young man's throat.

So this time, Gilligan decided to make as much noise on arrival as possible. He put down the torch, cleared his throat and braced himself. He threw open the door to the supply hut with a loud bang and strode in, his voice raised to foghorn level. "Boy! That Mary Ann sure knows how to eat! Now, where did she put that banana crème pie?"

In the next instant he found himself face down in the sand again, with the pyjama-clad Professor kneeling squarely in the middle of his back.

"Who goes there?" Roy Hinkley barked, one hand on the back of Gilligan's head, pushing the first mate's face firmly into the floor.

"Puhfessor!" Gilligan spluttered, his mouth full of grit. "S'me, Gilligan!"

"Gilligan!" the Professor sighed his obvious relief and released the young man immediately. "I'm so sorry. Here- let me help you up." he hauled Gilligan to his feet and went to light an oil lamp as the first mate attempted to regain his dignity, brushing himself down and retrieving his hat from the floor.

The Professor chuckled softly as the lamp flickered into life and lit the room with a gentle orange glow. "Gilligan, either I just twisted your head around three sixty degrees, or your shirt is on backwards. I hope it's the latter."

Gilligan tugged at his collar. "My shirt is on backwards," he said sheepishly. "I was tired and I didn't feel like changing it." He jerked his thumb towards the food locker and smiled wryly. "You know what I've come for, right?"

The Professor nodded sympathetically. "Mary Ann's food cravings?"

"Uh-huh. She's got the Midnight Munchies bad tonight. She just about kicked me out of bed. She still wants pepperoni pizza. And then she'll eat a whole banana crème pie and she still wants pepperoni pizza. Professor, if I had another three wishes, I'd wish for enough pepperoni pizza to last through the whole of Mary Ann's pregnancy just so I could get a full night's sleep."

The Professor smiled. _A clean hospital bed and a trained midwife would be top of my wish list,_ he thought with a shake of his head. but he didn't want to worry Gilligan, so he kept it to himself.

Gilligan reached into the food locker and took out a whole banana crème pie that Mary Ann herself had made just that evening. He looked at it for a moment or two, then scooped a huge blob of whipped cream from the top, sucking it off his finger with a loud _mmm-mmm._

"Are you sure it's Mary Ann who has the food cravings and you're not just using her as an excuse to pig out yourself?" the Professor asked, raising one eyebrow and folding his arms.

"No, it's her, all right. She woke me up. _Gilligaaaan, Gilligaaaan. Go get me a pie._ You wait until you're married and Ginger's having a baby. You'll see." Gilligan scooped more whipped cream onto his finger and sucked it off.

The Professor blushed and shuffled from one foot to the other. "As much as I admire your new found wisdom on the subject, I can't see anything like that happening for a while," he said, hoping the muted lamplight was low enough to conceal the redness he could feel creeping up his neck.

"Come on, Professor. Everyone knows how you feel about each other. At least, I do."

Roy Hinkley coughed quietly. Gilligan's face was half in shadow but his eyes were almost luminous and the Professor found them disconcerting. "Gilligan," he said, "I'm afraid that being sharply woken up in the middle of the night is hardly conducive to clear and logical thinking. Therefore, I really don't think that right now is the best time to talk about this. How about you just take the pie back to Mary Ann before you end up eating it all, and let me go back to sleep?"

Gilligan smiled. "Okay, Professor, I'm going. But think about it, okay? I mean, if I can do it, anyone can, right?"

The Professor regarded the young man standing before him. Dirty scuffed sneakers with their untied laces trailing, battered, creased and faded jeans covered in sand, a crumpled red rugby shirt pulled on back to front with the collar rucked around his neck, a goofy, tired expression under hanks of dark untidy hair topped with a worn old hat that had seen far better days, and a slightly lopsided banana crème pie clutched in both hands like a trophy.

"Go on, Gilligan," he said, waving his hands towards the door. "Scoot."

# # # #

Mary Ann was awake early the next morning. Gilligan could hear her moving around the hut. He carried on pretending to be asleep, but when she started groaning his eyes opened immediately. He found her standing in the middle of the hut, completely naked. She had one hand placed on her back and the other pressing into the area between her pregnancy-swollen breasts. Gilligan loved looking at her baby bump, and Mary Ann loved it when he looked at her baby bump. But right now, his wife looked anything but happy.

"Are you all right?" Gilligan asked, lifting his head from the pillow.

"Uh-huh," she said, her face contorted. "It's just indigestion. Or heartburn, I don't know which."

"Well, you did eat a whole pie," Gilligan told her. "I always get sick when I eat a whole pie."

"It seemed like such a good idea at the time," Mary Ann sighed, rubbing just below her breasts. "Oh, this poor child must be getting tired of the taste of banana crème pie. I wish we had pizza."

Gilligan's head dropped back onto the pillow. _Not this again._ "Well, we don't," he muttered. "Not the way you want it."

"Hot, melted cheese, extra thick," Mary Ann said, licking her lips. "When you pick up a slice the cheese drips onto your fingers."

"Mary Ann, stop!" Gilligan protested, pulling the pillow on top of his head. "You're starting to make _me_ hungry!"

"Thick, sizzling slices of spicy pepperoni," Mary Ann continued, her eyes going glazed even as she rubbed her burning stomach. "Chunky, gleaming olives..."

"Mary Ann, would you _stop_?" came her husband's plaintive voice from under the pillow. "I can't believe you have indigestion and you're still talking about food!"

"Oh, I need pizza!" Mary Ann sighed with longing. "I'm eating banana crème pie after banana crème pie and it isn't doing anything at all!"

"Yes it is," her husband mumbled, dramatically holding the pillow tighter over his head. "It's turning me into a nervous wreck!"

# # # #

As well as dealing with Mary Ann's food cravings, which Gilligan secretly found fascinating even though they drove him crazy, he was also attempting to come to terms with what life would be like once the baby actually arrived. _If you think midnight food runs are bad, wait until a hungry baby's waking you up every two hours,_ the Professor had remarked during Mary Ann's last check up. Gilligan had looked at Mary Ann who had looked back at him, and the Professor had smiled at the almost identical look of trepidation on each of their faces. _At least neither of you have to get up early for work the next morning,_ he'd chuckled.

Gilligan had many animal friends on the island and he often encountered a few of them on his ventures into the jungle. He held conversations with them as though they were human, and often they responded with sounds or gestures that suggested they understood what he was saying. But today he was looking for someone specific. After he left Mary Ann at the supply hut, (she was absolutely determined to make herself a pizza today), he ambled off into the undergrowth and began his quest for the animal he sought.

When he was far enough away from the huts so that no-one could hear him, he glanced about furtively just to make sure he was alone, then he cupped his hands around his mouth and started chattering, sounding for all the world like an overgrown monkey. He carried on like this for several minutes before the vegetation began rustling a little distance away, then getting closer and closer until finally a baby chimp came bounding out of the foliage, chattering excitedly in reply. Gilligan grinned broadly and held out his arms and the baby chimp launched itself into them, clinging to Gilligan's shoulders with one long hairy arm while instantly reaching for his hat with the other.

"Okay, you can be first mate today," Gilligan said as the little chimp placed the hat haphazardly onto its own head.

A moment or two later, the baby chimp's mother appeared, looking calmly at Gilligan with wise brown eyes.

"Good morning, ma'am. Is it okay if I borrow your son for the day?" Gilligan asked, politely. The baby chimp looked up at him and grinned widely, the hat flopping down over its forehead.

"Oooh, oooh," the adult chimp responded, then she raised her arm and waved dismissively. Gilligan took that as a yes.

"Much obliged," he said, making to tip his hat to her then realising the baby chimp was wearing it.

The mother chimp yawned and scratched her hairy chest, then she turned and disappeared back into the undergrowth, completely unconcerned.

"Well," Gilligan said, tickling the baby chimp under the chin, "I guess this means you're mine for today."

# # # #

Gilligan returned to camp holding the baby chimp in one arm. He saw Mrs. Howell sitting on a bamboo sun lounger in front of her hut and ambled over.

"Hi, Mrs. Howell," he greeted her.

"Hello, Gilligan...good heavens! What on earth have you got there?" Mrs. Howell lifted her lorgnette and peered at the baby chimp curiously.

"It's my pretend baby," Gilligan grinned. He turned to let the baby chimp see Mrs. Howell. "Say hello to Grandma Howell," he cooed, lifting the chimp's furry arm and waving its hand at the millionairess.

"What _are_ you talking about?" Mrs. Howell asked. "That's not a pretend baby, Gilligan, it's a real monkey!"

"Actually, it's an ape, Mrs. Howell," Gilligan said helpfully. "Monkeys have tails."

"I don't care what it is!" declared Mrs. Howell. "Such creatures belong in the zoo."

"No they don't, they belong in the wild, which is exactly where I got him from. He's my little buddy, aren't you, little buddy? I'm borrowing him for the day to practise what it's like when the real baby comes."

Mrs. Howell pulled a slight expression of distaste. "And are you expecting the real baby to grow hair all over its body, eat bananas and swing through trees?"

"It depends on whose side of the family it takes after, I guess," Gilligan said, then grinned at his own joke. "Did I make a witty, Mrs. Howell?"

"No," Mrs. Howell said, waving her fan. "Now please, Gilligan, be a good boy and take that thing away before Thurston sees it. Goodness knows what they'd make of this at the Country Club. Not to mention the fact that we'd be struck off the Social Register."

Gilligan waved the chimp's hand at Mrs. Howell. "Say 'bye 'bye, Grandma. 'Bye 'bye Grandma!"

The baby chimp chattered away, pursing its lips and making kissing noises.

"'Bye bye, darling," Mrs. Howell said, relenting as Gilligan carried the baby chimp away, but speaking softly enough so that he wouldn't hear her and be encouraged to come back.

The Skipper was slightly more welcoming of the new arrival when Gilligan wandered into his hut.

"Well! Hello there, little guy. And don't you look just like your daddy?" he chortled, studying the baby chimp's serious expression under Gilligan's hat, which it was still wearing.

"His name's Jonas," replied Gilligan, quick as a flash.

"Very funny, Gilligan," the Skipper said, although the little chimp had him enthralled.

"Wanna hold him?" Gilligan asked.

"Why, sure!" the Skipper grinned. Gilligan put the baby chimp into the big man's arms and the little animal immediately began climbing all over him. It pulled the Skipper's hat off, replaced it with Gilligan's, and put the Skipper's hat on its own head.

"Don't be naughty, Jonas," Gilligan said, gently. "Give Uncle Skipper his hat back."

"Gilligan, please stop calling him Jonas," the Skipper said. "People might get us confused."

Gilligan looked from the baby chimp to the Skipper then back to the baby chimp. "Even I wouldn't make a mistake like that," he said, bewildered.

"What's the point of this exercise, anyway?" the Skipper asked, handing the chimp back to Gilligan and swapping the hats around again.

"It's so I can get used to carrying a baby around all day," Gilligan said, hitching the animal onto his hip. But the baby animal was starting to get restless, and it wanted to climb up onto Gilligan's head. "No, Jonas, bad baby, get down," the first mate muttered as the chimp tried to use his nose as a foothold.

"I see you haven't taught him how to behave very well," Skipper chuckled, and was rewarded by the baby chimp reaching out with its long arm and smacking him with Gilligan's hat. "Hey! What's the meaning of that?"

"Babies copy what they see," Gilligan grinned.

"As in 'monkey see, monkey do'?" the Skipper said gruffly.

In the next moment the bored baby chimp used Gilligan's shoulders as a launch pad and leapt up onto the wall mounted cupboard. On top of the cupboard were a few knick knacks- stones and little ornaments found mainly by Gilligan on his island sojourns and brought back to decorate the place. The chimp hurled these knick knacks across the room, then jumped up and down on the cupboard until it fell off its wall mountings with a loud crash, spilling its contents all over the floor. Gilligan stared at what looked suspiciously like an old and well read copy of For Men Only.

"Gilligan! Get that animal out of here, now!" roared the Skipper.

"Jonas! Jonas, here boy, come here Jonas..." Gilligan followed the chimp around the room in a half crouch as the animal continued picking things up and throwing them, its high pitched screech going right through his brain. "Jonas, behave yourself, c'mon, little buddy. Daddy will give you a nice banana if you behave!"

The baby chimp jumped up and down, waving Gilligan's hat in the air. Then it ran off again, screeching and jabbering, until finally Gilligan took the blanket from the bottom hammock and backed the animal into a corner, throwing the blanket over its head and jumping on it, manhandling it from the floor and clutching it tightly in both arms as it struggled blindly.

"Guess I'd better take it back to its real mommy, huh, Skipper?" the first mate said sheepishly, trying to keep his face clear of the chimp's waving fist.

"I guess you better had, Gilligan," the Skipper said with a gusty sigh.

As Gilligan made his way out of the door holding tightly onto the struggling baby chimp, he looked down at the battered copy of For Men Only and wordlessly raised his eyes to the Skipper's face.

"I read it for the articles," the Skipper said primly, shutting the door firmly behind him.

# # # #

After returning the rebellious little chimp to its mother, who had grinned at Gilligan as if to say_ I knew he'd be trouble, _Gilligan rejoined Mary Ann at the cooking range where she was attempting to make her pizza. Every available work surface was covered in coarse grained flour and small flattened lumps of dough which she'd tried unsuccessfully to roll into a circular pizza base shape.

"I can't make it elastic enough, it keeps breaking," she grumbled. "I've got a delicious tomato sauce topping and nothing to put it on!"

"Well," said Gilligan, surveying the scene. "Why don't you just take what you've got and make lots of little mini pizzas? No-one said they had to be circular, right?"

"Oh, but it's not a pizza if it doesn't look like one," Mary Ann complained.

"The way you've been acting lately I don't think any pizza would last long enough for us to notice the shape of it," Gilligan smiled.

"I can't make the kind of cheese I want, either. All I have is this coconut paste and this mango chutney. Neither of them look or taste anything like cheese. This whole effort was a waste of time."

"Don't say that." Gilligan stood behind Mary Ann and put his hands gently on her baby bump. "Come on, Mary Ann. If a rose by any other name is still a rose, then a pizza by any other shape is still a pizza."

# # # #

45 minutes later, Mary Ann clasped her hands together in rapture as Gilligan removed the baking tray from the oven and set it down to cool on the work top.

"There," he said, triumphantly. "I'll bet those are the best little mini-pizzas you ever saw in your whole life."

"What is that divine smell?" came the Skipper's voice from the doorway.

"Oh, Skipper!" cried Mary Ann, beckoning the big man over. "Look what Gilligan made. Pizza!"

Arranged on the baking tray were seven rather oddly shaped discs of pastry topped with a mixture of ingredients including tomato sauce, coconut paste, sweet mango chutney, diced crab and lobster and pineapple chunks.

"Well! They certainly do look like pizza," the Skipper grinned.

Gilligan picked one up and studied it from all angles. "Who cares what they look like, as long as they taste good." He blew on it to cool it down and then bit off a large chunk and began chewing while Mary Ann waited impatiently for the verdict. "Not bad," he mumbled. "A little chewy, but..."

"Oh, who cares!" Mary Ann cried, and grabbed one off the tray, holding it under her nose and inhaling deeply, closing her eyes in rapture. "I know I'm never going to get the exact pizza I want, but this is the very next best thing."

Gilligan was already half way through his. "I think it's even better than a pizza loaded with cheese," he said, licking sticky chutney off his lips. "You can taste all the different ingredients this way."

"Well, listen to you, Gilligan, you'll be opening your own restaurant soon!" laughed the Skipper, taking one of the pizzas from the tray and doing the same as Mary Ann. "Oh, it smells heavenly."

As soon as Mary Ann's pizza was cool enough for her to eat, the two men watched, fascinated as she set about devouring the whole thing in less than four bites. Her cheeks bulged outwards as she struggled to chew the massive mouthfuls and had barely swallowed one before she took another. "It does taste like pizza!" she mumbled delightedly. "It does! It does!"

"I made seven, just in case everybody wanted one," Gilligan said, shaking his head in amusement as Mary Ann reached for another, "but somehow I don't think they're going to last that long."

# # # #

Four pizzas later, Mary Ann was back in their own hut, in exactly the same position as she'd been that morning, one hand pressed into her back and the other hand pressed between her breasts. The only difference was that this time she was clothed. She was also looking very sheepish.

Gilligan sat on the edge of the bed shaking his head. "I've got nothing to say to you this time," he told her. "You knew what you were getting yourself into."

"I can't believe I ate four," Mary Ann moaned. "Four!"

"You ready for some banana crème pie?" Gilligan asked.

Mary Ann crossed her eyes. "I don't ever want to see another pizza or banana crème pie again in my life," she said firmly.

"Really?" Gilligan was delighted.

"Really."

"Really, truly?"

"Really, truly."

"No more waking me up in the middle of the night?"

"Not if I can help it."

Gilligan held his arms out and Mary Ann went over to him and sat down on his lap. His hand went straight to her baby bump and stroked it in slow, soothing circles. "That any better?" he asked gently.

"I feel like a stuffed balloon," she moaned.

Gilligan began singing. "'When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie'..." he broke off. "Who'd want to hit someone in the eye with a pizza?" he mused, abandoning the song as quickly as he'd started. "And what's that got to do with the moon, anyway?"

"I have no idea," smiled Mary Ann. "All I know is, I just want to hurry up and have this baby so that my life can get back to normal!"


	14. Monkey Business

"Look at him, Ginger, he's a natural."

"Oh, but don't they look cute!"

"You'd think this was his destiny."

Gilligan turned to the girls with his best 'I know you're laughing at me, but I'm going to pretend I don't care' expression. It only served to make the girls giggle harder.

After Gilligan's first woeful attempts to integrate Jonas the baby chimp into the humans' way of life, the mother chimp (who was a relative of Gladys'), had returned to the campsite one day with a contrite little Jonas in tow, having obviously reprimanded him herself for misbehaving in the Skipper's hut and causing such a hullabaloo. Mary Ann had watched entranced as Gilligan and the mother chimp conducted some sort of a conversation on the edge of the clearing while little Jonas clutched tightly to Gilligan's pants leg with his little hairy fists, staring up at the first mate with wide, imploring eyes. Once the 'conversation' had ended, Gilligan had come back to the table with Jonas in his arms and the mother chimp watching carefully from the sidelines. _She says he'll behave this time,_ he'd told her. And lo and behold, the little chimp had been good as gold from then onwards. Discipline in the chimpanzee world was obviously no-nonsense, firm and lasting.

Now Gilligan and the girls were in the girls' hut, with Jonas laid out on his back like a human baby on Mary Ann's old bed, watching Gilligan intently with his shiny brown button eyes.

Gilligan was learning how to put on a diaper.

They had made a pile of makeshift diapers from old blankets. Gilligan was using three or four of them on Jonas to make sure he knew exactly what to do when the time came. He was determined to be a hands-on father. _Don't you worry about a thing, Mary Ann,_ he'd told his wife one night when she'd started panicking about how she was going to cope._ You just make sure the food goes in, and I'll take care of it when it comes out. _

But now he wasn't sure if he'd made the right decision. Putting a diaper on wasn't as easy as he'd thought. Maybe he'd just disappear into the jungle as soon as the baby was born and not come back until it was five years old, fully toilet trained and ready to build sandcastles.

On his fourth attempt the diaper actually looked like it was going to stay on, but as soon as he lifted Jonas from the bed the diaper slid down the chimp's little bowed legs and fell off onto the sandy floor. The girls hid their giggles behind their hands and sat there with their shoulders shaking and even Jonas looked at Gilligan with eyes that said _I'm really getting a little bored with this now._

"Here, Gilligan, let me show you," said Mary Ann, composing herself. She went over to the bed and laid Jonas down, taking the diaper and working quickly until the cloth was snug around the little animal's nether regions and held firmly in place with two safety pins. When she lifted up the chimp, the diaper stayed put, and the little animal chattered excitedly and kicked his legs as if to say, _at last, someone who knows what they're doing. Now can we go play outside?_

"How'd you do that?" Gilligan asked, wide eyed and a little perturbed.

"Trade secret," Mary Ann smiled, reaching up and tapping him lightly on the end of his nose.

Gilligan was nothing if not determined however, and over the ensuing days he practised and practised and practised until finally, one morning in their own hut, the diaper held fast as he picked Jonas up off the bed. His happiness at having succeeded was so great that he whooped and yelled and swung the baby chimp around and around until they both became dizzy and had to sit down before they fell down.

"I did it!" he cried breathlessly. "I did it!"

"You did it!" laughed Mary Ann, jigging up and down with delight, clasping her hands under her chin.

"Do I get a reward?" he said then, looking at her with an expression that suggested only one thing.

Mary Ann went over and sat on the bed beside him. She rested her hand on his thigh and and coyly fluttered her eyelashes. "Maybe."

He kissed her, gently at first and then with increasing passion until she found herself flat on her back with him above her, his hand moving in sensuous circles over her rotund baby bump. Jonas jumped down to the floor, chattering softly.

"I don't think the baby should be seeing this," Mary Ann giggled, looking up at him through heavy lidded eyes.

Gilligan raised his head and watched the chimp scoot across the room on all fours towards the door, its little bottom securely wrapped up. "I don't think the baby cares," he grinned. "I think the baby wants to go and show off the diaper daddy made."

"While daddy makes whoopee?" Mary Ann said, squirming with pleasure as his fingers grazed her hip.

"While daddy shows mommy how much he loves her," Gilligan said huskily, attempting to kiss her again, "and mommy shows daddy how much she loves him."

"And meanwhile, baby's running around loose and creating havoc outside."

"Mary Ann, it's not like he's going to get lost. He knows this island better than we do."

"But if he was really our baby, we wouldn't leave him on his own."

"If he was really our baby he'd be in his crib with his toys to keep him occupied."

"Men." Mary Ann sighed. "You have an answer for everything when it comes to..._you-know-what_."

"Mmm," Gilligan agreed, burying his face in her neck. "That we do, Mary Ann. That we do."

"Not that I'm..._complaining_," Mary Ann murmured, arching her back as his lips found an erogenous zone, surrendering herself to him at last.

Afterwards, when they finally emerged from their hut to shower and get dressed ready for a trip to camp, they found Jonas still wearing his diaper and sitting in a nearby tree picking at the bark and waiting patiently for them to appear.

"See?" said Gilligan. "He knows better than to disobey his mom. His real mom, I mean. You know, _ooh, ooh, ooh_." He pulled a monkey face and jumped up and down waving his arms in imitation of the mother chimp. This earned him a playful swat on the shoulder from Mary Ann, which made him laugh and make even more chimp noises, with Jonas joining in from the tree branch from which he was now swinging by one arm.

"There are times when I'm glad the girls from Winfield can't see me now," Mary Ann said mock-sternly. "They'd think I was married to some kind of Monkey Boy!"

# # # #

"Twenty two weeks," said the Professor, poring over A World Of Facts while pacing around the supply hut. "Over half way through her pregnancy. I'm getting more and more out of my depth every day."

"You're certainly worrying more than the rest of us," said Ginger, watching him go round and round and round. "And you know that worrying doesn't help."

"I know that, Ginger. But I find myself dreaming about this birth. I dream about the baby slipping out of my hands, or the baby coming out as an alien or a zombie, or Mary Ann suffering with terrible labour pains and me not being able to do anything to help her."

"Are your dreams about Mary Ann, or are they actually about you?" said Ginger, gently.

The Professor stopped in his tracks and looked at Ginger in despair. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I know one thing. I'm terrified."

Ginger's eyes widened. It was most unlike Roy Hinkley to confess to such a strong emotion. It was also a little scary. If the Professor was terrified, what hopes did the rest of them have? They were all relying on him to deliver Mary Ann's baby safely. Then it hit her.

_They were all relying on him._

No wonder the poor man was terrified.

"Professor," the movie star said, standing tall in her gold gown with her chin up and shoulders back. "You and I are in this together. I won't let you go it alone. I'll be there at your side, through wind and rain, through darkness and light, to share your heavy burden through these lean and wicked times."

"Well, that's very kind of you," the Professor smiled, "but what's that got to do with delivering a baby?"

Ginger shrugged. "Probably nothing. But it's from a movie I was in once, and I thought it sounded encouraging."

"You're right," the Professor chuckled. "It does. And I'm always up for a movie quote."

Ginger smiled knowingly. "'The Hula Girl and The Fullback'?"

"Gets me every time."

Ginger laughed sensuously. "You're full of surprises today, Professor."

"Anything to take my mind off babies."

Ginger moved closer. "I think I know how to do that."

Just as she reached out to take him in her arms, they heard the familiar sounds of someone approaching. Well, two someones. And a some_thing_.

"Here we go," the Professor muttered. "I wonder what it is this time?"

Ginger sighed loudly. She went over to the door and pulled it open, not realising that Gilligan was about to knock on it. This resulted in Gilligan knocking on Ginger's forehead while his head was still turned towards Mary Ann.

"Hello? Anybody home?" he said, before he noticed it was Ginger and not the door. He pulled his hand back with a startled _oops._

"I could ask you the same question," Ginger said with a sulky pout, looking upwards at her dishevelled fringe.

"I'm sorry, Ginger. I didn't know you were there." Gilligan reached up and attempted to pull a few flame red strands of Ginger's hair back into place. The movie star nudged his hand away impatiently and stood beside the open door, ushering them into the room.

"Come on in," she said in a cool, professional tone. "The doctor is waiting."

With the baby chimp attached to his left hip, Gilligan came into the supply hut with Mary Ann behind him. Her swollen belly was very obvious now, which made her walk with her back slightly bowed. Gilligan called it her penguin waddle (or her Skipper impression, when he was feeling particularly cheeky), which usually earned him a shoulder swat, although even Mary Ann had to admit that was exactly what it looked like.

The Professor had to smile at this makeshift little family standing before him. There was something endearing about the way Gilligan held one arm protectively around Mary Ann while his other arm cradled a juvenile chimpanzee with almost equal care. It didn't seem to matter that the ape wasn't a human baby. Gilligan was as gentle with it as though it were his own, and the little animal looked quite content pressed up as it was against the first mate's skinny body with its long hairy arms wound tightly round his neck and its head resting on his shoulder.

"And what can we do for the Gilligans today?" The Professor asked, in a cool, professional tone to match Ginger's.

"Well," said Gilligan. "We just wanted to know, um...that is..." he let go of Mary Ann and covered the chimp's ears with his free hand, "...if it's okay for us to go on having, um..._s-e-x_, now that Mary Ann's belly's gotten so big."

Ginger clamped her hand over her mouth but couldn't stop the very unladylike, not to mention unprofessional snort of laughter that came bursting out of her. She composed herself quickly and directed her gaze out of the open door, her mouth twisted valiantly against further explosions of mirth.

"Gilligan!" said Mary Ann, going bright red. "Did you have to come out with it as bluntly as that?"

"That's what you're meant to do at the doctor's!" Gilligan countered. "Tell him your problems! Skinny Mulligan once got a peanut stuck in his ear and didn't tell the doctor and woke up screaming 'cause he'd had a nightmare that a peanut plant was growing inside his head and eventually Mrs. Mulligan had to take him to the hospital for an _operation, _and they cut his head open!"

"I'm sure they didn't cut his head open," said the Professor, patiently.

"That's what _he _said they did. And Fatso Flanagan's uncle was a doctor, and he said they woulda used a nine inch blade and a two-bit drill to get in there."

"I think that was probably just a story he concocted to stop you boys from further attempts to insert foreign objects in your ears," the Professor smiled.

"It wasn't a foreign object, it was a peanut, and Skinny didn't put it in his ear, Florence Oppenheimer did. While he was asleep, on the grass."

The Professor shook his head. "They would have reached in with a small pair of sanitized, surgical tweezers and simply pulled the offending object out, and then given him some antiseptic ointment to prevent infection."

"No. They drilled a hole into his head and got it out that way." Gilligan was adamant.

The Professor smiled at Mary Ann. "Aren't you glad that I'm delivering your baby, and not him?"

"Very much so," Mary Ann nodded.

"However," the Professor continued, "to answer your somewhat direct question, Gilligan, the baby is very well protected by the muscular walls of the uterus and the cushioning effect of the amniotic fluid, and by the mucus plug which seals off the neck of the uterus. No injury will occur during gentle, loving sex. And I can assure you that's a medical fact."

"What about..." Gilligan was hesitant now. His face twisted into all kinds of embarrassed expressions. He looked at Mary Ann, then down at the floor, then hefted Jonas into a more comfortable position before leaning forward and speaking again, in a tone low enough so that only the Professor could hear him properly. "What about, you know, when she likes it..." he lowered his voice even further, "...rough?"

The Professor almost let his cool demeanour slip. The last thing he wanted was a mental picture like that. But some women were known to become more sexual when they were pregnant, and so maybe that was what was happening to Mary Ann. And that was another mental picture he didn't really want, either. "Well, " he stammered, "some women do find they are more easily aroused, due to the increased blood flow to the pelvic region..."

"I'll say!" Gilligan interrupted, looking suspiciously pleased with himself.

"However, if the size of the bump begins to make it uncomfortable, there are plenty of other ways to enjoy intimacy without..." The Professor stopped. He also lowered his voice so that only Gilligan could hear him. "...penetration."

Gilligan's brow furrowed. _Please don't ask what penetration is_, the Professor thought with despair. "Putting it in," he explained, quickly.

"But that's the best part!" said Gilligan, loudly.

"What's the best part?" Mary Ann asked.

"Putting it...mmmmph!" Gilligan found his words blocked by the Professor's hand wedged firmly against his mouth. He shot the Professor an indignant look, but the Professor just raised his eyebrows until the first mate relented. "Nothing, Mary Ann," he said when the Professor took his hand away at last. "The Professor says it's okay to do it as long as we're careful."

"That's wonderful!" said Mary Ann, looking suspiciously enthusiastic. "Oh, but for how long? I mean, could it dislodge the baby at any time?"

The Professor ran his palms over his face, wondering if this ordeal was ever going to end. "Sex during pregnancy shouldn't start labour until the body is ready," he said calmly. "And you have four months to go yet. Just...er...be gentle."

Mary Ann held tightly onto Gilligan's right arm. Her eyes shone with undisguised delight. "You don't know how happy I am to hear that," she said, excitedly. "I don't know what's happening to me, but I'm really enjoying _this_ part of my pregnancy!"

"Me too," the first mate grinned.

_Were they sent here just to torment me?_ the Professor thought. "Was there anything else?" he asked.

Mary Ann shrugged. "Just a general check up, please, Professor. I always feel better after you've reassured me everything's all right."

_If only someone would reassure me that everything's all right. Here I am worrying myself sick while these two are having the time of their lives!_ "Okay," the Professor smiled. "Gilligan, you can take the baby chimp outside while I give Mary Ann her check up, please. As lovely as he is, I really don't want any animals loose in my office while I go about my professional duties."

"Sure, Professor." Gilligan hoisted Jonas up onto his hip and leaned down to kiss Mary Ann gently on the corner of her mouth. "Be good," he said softly.

"I will," she replied, equally softly, her cheeks pink and eyelashes lowered.

Ginger hooked her slender fingers around Gilligan's elbow and led him out of the door. "Come along, Romeo," she said. "You can face being apart for ten minutes, can't you?"

"Not these days," said Gilligan candidly. "This pregnancy sure is weird. First she's sick, then she can't stop eating, and now she can't stop..."

"Gilligan, you don't have to tell us _everything_," Ginger said, shaking her head at him.

"But, Ginger, nothing like this has ever happened to me, ever! When I was a kid, Skinny and Fatso and Billy McGuire all had girlfriends and I was the only one who didn't. And then, the first time I kissed a girl was really an accident, I didn't know it was gonna happen, I was trying out my new skateboard and I skated into her and we ended up on the ground and somehow I kissed her on the cheek even though I wasn't trying to, and she told her brother and he came after me on _his _skateboard and pushed me into a ditch, and even in grammar school I got called Goofy Gilligan 'cause I was so clumsy, and the girls used to say if you go out on a date with Goofy Gilligan you're liable to break your neck, and this one girl did ask me out on a date once but I chickened out at the last minute 'cause I thought it was a joke and her friends would be laughing about it, and when I saw her the next Monday she started crying and squished her bubblegum in my hair and my mom had to cut it out with scissors. And then...and then..." Gilligan paused for one tremendous gasp of oxygen. "But anyway, I never went out with any girls the way the other guys did and I never knew what _any_ of this was like until I married Mary Ann and now it's like I can't stop it, and I don't want to stop it, and even if I wanted to stop it, I couldn't stop it because Mary Ann loves me like a hurricane, or a typhoon, and once she starts that's it, I'm blown away by feelings I never, ever had before!"

"Gilligan, calm down," Ginger laughed, when she was able to get a word in at last. "You're getting the little guy all agitated."

"Oh, no...that's the Skipper doing that," said Gilligan, holding the chimp tightly as the real Jonas Grumby approached them across the clearing. "For some reason, Jonas gets naughty when he sees the Skipper."

As if on cue, Jonas bounded down out of Gilligan's arms and ran across to the Skipper, leaping up onto the big man's pants leg and chattering wildly.

"Gilligan, please discipline your child," the Skipper boomed good-naturedly, lifting the raucous little animal into the air.

"Come here, Jonas, that's a good boy," Gilligan cooed, taking Jonas back into his own embrace. "Behave for daddy and you get extra banana for dinner. How'd you like that, hmm?"

Both Ginger and the Skipper watched in amazement as the little chimp calmed down immediately and nuzzled its hairy little face against Gilligan's, making little chimpanzee noises of contentment.

"You're a natural, little buddy," the Skipper laughed, shaking his head affectionately.

"Yeah, and you know something, Skipper? If I'm the monkey's daddy, then you must be the monkey's uncle." Gilligan winked playfully at the Skipper, who removed his hat and made as if to hit Gilligan with it.

"Why, you..."

"Now, now. Remember, Skipper. Monkey see, monkey do."

"Monkey with me, and I'll monkey with you," the Skipper laughed, waggling his fingers at the little chimp. "Anyway. Where is our dear Mary Ann this fine day?"

"Oh, she's over in the supply hut having her breasts felt by the Professor," Gilligan said innocently.

"What the...?" the Skipper blurted. "Gilligan, _must_ you say these things so...so..._undiluted?_"

"I should hope she _isn't _having her breasts felt by the Professor," Ginger said with a pout.

"Sorry, Skipper, but I keep forgetting the words he uses. Mammo, lacto, something. She's got all this milk forming inside 'em, see, and they get sensitive, she says, and sometimes they hurt, and..."

"Gilligan. We get the picture," said the Skipper, blushing. "Although we'd rather not get the picture, if you know what I mean." he exchanged a look with Ginger, who lifted her eyes skywards.

"Sometimes she just needs reassuring that it's 'cause her breasts are making milk, and I forget that word, too. I'm sorry, Skipper, all I know is the Professor has to feel her breasts. Like a doctor would," he added, noticing Ginger's expression.

"I remember when we weren't allowed to discuss Mary Ann and her private life in public," Ginger said, crossing her arms over her chest just in case the subject matter inadvertently drew attention to her own breasts.

"That was before she got pregnant," Gilligan said. "but now I'm just so excited and happy and scared that I can't keep it inside any longer. I need to talk about it. I _need_ to." He hefted little Jonas, settling the chimp onto his other hip and placing his weight onto his other foot. He stared plaintively at the Skipper. "Because sometimes it's all too much for me to deal with by myself."

There was a moment of silence between them and suddenly, without warning, Gilligan burst into tears. Jonas looked worried and put his hand on Gilligan's face, catching some of the tears and putting them on the end of his little tongue.

"Oh, Gilligan!" said Ginger. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, come here, little buddy," said the Skipper, prising Jonas out of Gilligan's shaking arms and setting the chimp gently down on the ground, where he sat quietly, tasting the saltwater on his fingers and looking up at Gilligan with big round eyes, chittering quietly to himself.

The Skipper pulled Gilligan into a fierce hug, his huge, bearlike arms almost swallowing the first mate's skinny frame. Gilligan's fragility was always so much more apparent at moments like these, when the Skipper's huge bulk threatened to overwhelm him. But the Skipper was a solid rock, an anchor in a storm. He held his little buddy and didn't say a word until Gilligan was ready. Meanwhile, Ginger reached out and put her hand on Gilligan's back and rubbed him gently between the shoulderblades. She should have known he was building up to something when he started babbling about Skinny and Fatso and all the girls at school. Gilligan's life was changing faster than he knew how to deal with it.

"I'm okay," Gilligan spluttered. "Really. I'm not sad or anything."

"We know, little buddy," said the Skipper gently. "We know."

"It's too much sometimes, isn't it, Gilligan?" Ginger said, quietly. "One minute it's all exciting, the next it scares you to death."

Gilligan nodded, wiping his face with his sleeve just as Skipper removed a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to his friend. "Mary Ann and the baby depend on me," he said, his voice small and quavering. "And I'm scared I won't measure up."

"You'll measure up just fine, little buddy," the Skipper smiled. "And the fact that you're so worried about it shows just what a conscientious man you are."

Gilligan pulled back and stared wordlessly at the Skipper through darkened, tear-stained eyes.

"That means you want nothing more than to do the right thing," the Skipper said, with a chuckle. "And you will, Gilligan. You will."

"Thanks, Skipper." Gilligan disengaged himself from the Skipper's arms at last. His skinny shoulders shook as he wiped the tears from his face and blew his nose loudly and wetly into the handkerchief. He screwed it into a ball and made to hand it back to the Skipper.

"Ah, no thanks, little buddy," the Skipper said, slightly reluctant to accept the soggy offering. "You can keep it."

Ginger could no longer contain herself. She launched herself at the first mate and enveloped him in a warm, perfume scented embrace, her breasts pressed against his chest. "Gilligan, we all love you," she breathed, clinging to him as though he would lift into the air at the slightest breeze. "You'll be a wonderful father. We know you will. You're one of the bravest men I've ever met, and believe me, I've met quite a number of men."

"I know _that_," said Gilligan.

"And not one of them was as..." Ginger stopped and released Gilligan from her clutches. "What do you mean, _you know that_?" she glared at him haughtily.

"I know you've met a lot of men," Gilligan repeated, hooking his thumb into his cuff and dragging it across his eyes in such a childlike way that Ginger couldn't be mad at him for anything. "But you know what, Ginger? They were all luckier to meet you than you were to meet them. I sure feel like a lucky guy for knowing you."

"Gilligan, you smooth talking devil," Ginger laughed, and pulled him back into her arms, hugging him tightly and swinging him round in a circle while little Jonas chattered gaily and jumped up and down, glad to see his master happy and smiling again.

"Little buddy, I don't know what it is that you do," said the Skipper, "but you went and did it again!"

# # # #

Later that day, Mary Ann and a newly invigorated Gilligan took Jonas down to the lagoon to sit by the gently lapping water. Mary Ann liked the soothing sounds of the little waves kissing the shore as Gilligan sat behind her and cradled her bump in his arms. They watched Jonas playing with a broken branch, smacking the sand with the leafy end and picking up ants and eating them.

"Our baby will grow up eating ants if they play together," Mary Ann smiled.

"Well, if the ants bite him, he can bite them back," said Gilligan with a cheery grin.

"He?"

"Or she," Gilligan corrected himself. He gasped suddenly, and went wide eyed. "Did you feel that?"

"Yes," Mary Ann laughed. "He or she just gave you a kick."

Gilligan pulled Mary Ann as close to him as he could and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Did you give daddy a kick, little buddy?" he asked her belly. "Can you hear daddy talking about you?"

"He or she is saying 'don't worry daddy, everything's going to be all right'," Mary Ann smiled, tenderly kissing Gilligan's cheek. "We love you, best daddy in the world."

Gilligan spread his hands flat against Mary Ann's belly. "C'mon baby, kick daddy some more," he said. "Let's feel those feet."

After a few moments, Mary Ann's stomach undulated again, a small rippling movement that ended with a firm push against the flat of Gilligan's hand.

"Oh my Gosh," Gilligan breathed. "Oh my Gosh, _oh my Gosh_!"

"The natives are restless," Mary Ann giggled.

"Oh, Mary Ann, this is so exciting," Gilligan whispered. "That's our baby in there. Our baby, that _we made_!"

"I know!" Mary Ann agreed. "Sometimes I still can't believe it. How we're married and everything. When I think back over the years, and how I'd almost given up on ever getting you to notice me."

"And now I can't remember a time when I didn't love you, or want you, or need you, or be so scared that anything might happen to you," Gilligan said, gently kissing the back of her neck where her hair trailed loose in long, soft strands.

Mary Ann sighed at the touch of his lips against her skin. "Me neither, Gilligan. In fact, I think I fell in love with you from the moment you held out your hand and helped me aboard the Minnow."

"Really?" Gilligan lifted his head, surprised.

"Really," Mary Ann nodded. "I don't think I'd ever seen such a beautiful, sunny smile as the one you wore that day."

"That's funny, 'cause I remember thinking the very same thing about you."

"Really?" Mary Ann twisted to look at him fully, her eyes wide with delight.

"Really," Gilligan said. "I just didn't want to show it. But I'm real glad I did, even if it took six years."

"You know what they say, better late than never."

"Yeah," Gilligan grinned. "And you know what else they say?"

"What?" said Mary Ann, breaking into a naughty smile.

"'Make hay while the sun shines'." He nuzzled the back of her neck again, and gently nibbled her earlobe. "And the sun's shining. So. Wanna make some hay?"

"What about the other baby?" Mary Ann giggled, her skin tingling all over.

They both looked over to where Jonas was now curled up in the shade of a tree, having exhausted himself playing with the heavy branch and stuffing himself full of ants.

"Aw! Look at him, fast asleep. Like father, like son," Mary Ann giggled.

"Monkey see, monkey do," agreed Gilligan. "And look! He still hasn't lost that diaper."

Mary Ann tipped her head back and looked at Gilligan with eyes full of tenderness and warmth. "That's because you put it on," she said, her voice becoming smoky with desire. "And you're the best there is."

Gilligan covered Mary Ann's mouth with his own and kissed her deeply until there wasn't a single cell in her body that wasn't on fire.

"I love you so much, Mary Ann," he whispered. "I don't think you even know."

"Come on then, haymaker," Mary Ann grinned. "Show me."


	15. Crib Notes

Gilligan was building a crib for the baby. He was sitting cross legged at the back of the hut with his toolbox open and an assortment of pieces of wood and bamboo poles scattered around him. He was following the same sort of pattern as when he'd constructed his bathtub all those years ago, but this time there was no need to go to all the trouble of lining it and making it waterproof. All he needed to do was make it sturdy and snug, with legs that kept it off the ground so no creepy crawlies could sneak in. And this time he wasn't envisaging himself lying in it and playing with plastic boats, either. This time he was envisaging standing with his arms wrapped around Mary Ann as they leaned over their new baby, watching quietly as he or she slept, lost in the wondrous joys of being parents for the first time.

Gilligan was working with the aid of Jonas the chimp, who was now a regular three-times-a-week visitor. His mother would drop him off around lunch time and pick him up again in the late afternoon, hoisting his sleepy little form onto her back and loping off through the jungle to return him to his natural chimpanzee home. She seemed quite happy with this arrangement, trusting her human friends implicitly, and Gilligan and Mary Ann often wondered what she did with her days off.

_Maybe she catches up with the housework,_ Mary Ann suggested.

_Maybe she crashes out and eats chocolates and watches a movie, _suggested Gilligan. _One of Ginger's, like_ _Belly Dancers of Bali Bali, or Sing A Song Of Sing Sing._

_Maybe she meets up with her friends for coffee and cakes, _said Mary Ann, laughing.

_Maybe she just sleeps all day,_ said Gilligan. _That's what I'd do._

Every so often when Gilligan banged his hammer a little too loudly or Jonas started screeching belligerently because he couldn't play with a tool that Gilligan was using, Mary Ann's voice would drift out of the window.

_Gilligaaaan..._

_Yes, dear? _he'd reply, grinning at this little game they'd concocted, where, once it started, everything they said had to end in 'dear'.

_Please keep the noise down, dear. Some of us are trying to rest._

_Sorry, dear. Or should I start calling you Mrs. Howell?_

_You do, and you know what you won't be getting later on. Dear._

_Yes, dear. I mean, no, dear, I mean, I'll keep it down, dear. The noise, that is. _And then he'd chuckle naughtily at his innuendo laden joke and put his fingers to his lips, shushing Jonas. _Behave, Jonas. Or daddy sleeps on the couch tonight._

While he worked, he wondered about what his poor wife must be going through. He couldn't imagine what it must be like to be pregnant. Mary Ann was now seven months gone and her belly was huge. She had also recently started complaining of a dull ache 'down below'.

When she had first mentioned it, Gilligan had looked at the ground underneath her feet and asked _down below where? _

_Down below, Gilligan,_ she had answered, pointing vaguely in the general direction of her groin and upper thigh area. _You know. Down_ _there._

Of course, once he'd understood what she meant, Gilligan had immediately whisked her off to the Professor in a blind panic to find out what was causing it. The Professor, after consulting a few of his books and making them wait for a whole two minutes, told them in a calm, professional manner that the bones of the female pelvis were specifically designed to separate in order for the baby to move down into position. _There's an awful lot of activity going on in there, _he said._ Also, the weight of the baby pressing down on the birth canal can sometimes cause swollen veins. My advice would be to lie down and rest as often as possible to relieve the pressure. _

Mary Ann had been reassured by this, but Gilligan hadn't really heard an awful lot past the bit about bones separating because he'd gone a funny colour and run out of the supply hut with his hands clamped over his mouth.

As for the physical side of their marriage, the size of her bump and the dull ache down below meant that Mary Ann had a tendency to push him away more often than not these days. But Gilligan loved her new curves, her perfectly round stomach, even her penguin waddle. Even the frown of concentration she wore as she lowered herself into a chair or eased herself back against the pillows.

_Oh, Gilligan. You can't possibly still be interested in me. I look like a beached whale! _

To which Gilligan would invariably reply, while scooting onto the bed next to her with a twinkle in his eye, _well, I've never seen a beached whale up close, Mary Ann, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't look anything like my beautiful, pregnant wife._

He knew not to overdo his attentions, though. If she really wasn't in the mood he was happy just to lie behind her, curled around her like a living comforter, his face nestled into her hair. One arm under her head with his fingers through her fingers, and the other arm cradled supportively around her bump, his long legs twined between hers. She'd stroke his forearm and occasionally tickle his leg hairs with her toes. They'd lie there, just talking quietly, and whenever the baby moved inside her, he'd gasp and then he'd laugh like a little kid. _How come the baby only wakes up when we want to go to sleep? _

_Because it's got Gilligan genes._

_Jeans? Where would the baby get jeans from? I thought babies came out...you know. Naked._

_Genes, Gilligan. G-e-n-e-s. Not jeans._

But Gilligan still didn't know what she meant, so he fell silent and just lay behind her, grinning at the thought of his baby wearing a tiny little pair of jeans just like his. And maybe a little red rugby shirt and a hat to go with it.

A little mini-Gilligan following him around as he went about his daily chores.

Still smiling at the thought, Gilligan's mind was rudely brought back to the present when he reached behind him for his hacksaw and found it wasn't where he'd left it. His fingers groped around in the dirt for several moments before he finally gave up and looked. No, it was definitely gone. He pressed his lips together in exasperation. "Jonas!" he muttered. "Jonas, where are you, you little monkey menace?"

The chimp was nowhere to be seen. Gilligan stood up and began hunting for his little animal companion. "Jooo-nas, Joooooo-nas. Where are youuu?"

Seconds later he heard a soft swishing noise, then a rustling of leaves and then a small branch plummeted out of a nearby tree and landed on the ground with a crash. The end of the branch had been cut in a perfect straight line.

"_Jonas!_"

Up in the tree, the little chimp sat on the stump that was left of the branch, brandishing the hacksaw and chattering with delight at his accomplishment.

Gilligan stood beneath the tree and stared reproachfully at the small creature with the toothy grin. "Come down out of there, Jonas. You're meant to be helping me build the crib, not chopping down trees. Besides, we don't need any more firewood."

Jonas came down out of the tree into Gilligan's outstretched arms, dropping the hacksaw on the ground and wrapping his long arms tightly around the first mate's neck. Gilligan held the chimp and stroked the coarse hair on his back, rocking him as though he were a real human baby. "You want some attention, huh?" he said softly, as the little chimp made cooing sounds against his neck. "You want some banana? You wanna play? You want to go see mommy?"

He carried Jonas round to the door of the hut and went in. Just as he was about to start talking, he realised that Mary Ann had fallen asleep and he stopped in his tracks. Jonas chittered quietly and Gilligan placed a hand over the chimp's hairy little mouth. "Shhh, Jonas," he whispered. "Mommy's sleeping."

Silently he crept forward, pulling up a nearby chair and positioning it by the bed. He sat down, cradling Jonas in his arms, and settled down to watch his slumbering wife.

Mary Ann was lying on her back in just her underwear so she'd be cooler. Her thick dark hair lay spread out on the pillow like a beautiful, soft cloud, or a halo around her head. Her stomach protruded into the air. She'd fallen asleep with one hand cupped around it and her other hand nestled between her breasts, which were growing heavy with milk. Her face was turned towards him, her expression peaceful and benign. Her eyes moved around under their lids and her long black eyelashes fluttered gently, like butterfly wings unfolding in the sun.

"Look, Jonas, Mommy's dreaming," Gilligan whispered. "What do you think she's dreaming about?" He looked down at the chimp's face. Jonas looked up at him with wide, shiny-button eyes. "Bananas? No, I don't think she dreams of bananas. Or maybe she does. Maybe she dreams of banana crème pies."

Mary Ann's lips twitched into a little smile.

"Now she's smiling! Maybe she can hear the baby when she's asleep, and maybe the baby just told her a joke." Gilligan shifted his gaze to Mary Ann's bump, and was rewarded with the sight of a small movement there. At the same time, Mary Ann whimpered softly and her hand moved instinctively to the spot where the baby had kicked.

Gilligan watched with awe as the baby kicked again. "I sure wish I knew what it was like to be pregnant," he murmured. "I know I'm the baby's father, but I'll never be as close to it as Mary Ann is. She gets to hold it inside her. She gets to feel it growing from nothing but a tiny little seed. Everything the baby has is being made inside her. Its eyes and its nose and its mouth, and all its little fingers and toes. It sure is amazing." He looked down at Jonas again. "You were once like that," he smiled. "A tiny, tiny little baby growing inside your mommy. And your mommy would have felt you kicking her too. I'll bet you were thinking, I can't wait to get outside so I can start eating bananas and chopping down trees."

While Gilligan talked quietly, Jonas put his fingers against Gilligans' moving lips, feeling Gilligan's breath against his hairy knuckles. His little coffee brown eyes looked straight into Gilligan's, as though mesmerised by the sound of the first mate's voice.

"And one day, when you're not a baby any more, you might get to be a daddy too. A big daddy chimpanzee with a baby of your own. How'd you like that, huh? It's too much to think about right now, isn't it. I know. It's still too much for me too, sometimes, and I'm a lot older than you. But you know what? If you guys can live in the jungle and grow up to be strong and healthy, then so can we. We don't need all that stuff they say we do. We just need food and shelter and each other. And we've got all our friends, and we've got the sun and the ocean and we've got plenty of fresh water and bananas. So I think we're gonna be just fine. Don't you?"

Jonas tugged on Gilligan's lower lip and chittered softly, then reached up for Gilligan's hat and pulled it off his head, placing it lopsidedly on his own where it immediately fell down over his eyes.

"Yeah, I know. We're gonna have to get the baby a hat."

A soft, snuffling sound drew Gilligan's attention to the bed, where Mary Ann now had one hand over her mouth. Her sleepy eyes were half open and she was looking at him through her eyelashes. At first he thought she was crying and he almost panicked, but then he realised she was stifling her laughter. Relieved that she was okay, he grinned sheepishly.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," he said, hanging his head.

"Don't be sorry," Mary Ann smiled. "That was quite a speech. I loved it!"

"well, um...I...I was just talking to Jonas, really." Gilligan patted the little chimp's back. "He likes it when I talk to him."

"I know," Mary Ann smiled. "And I'm sure he listens to every word." She hauled herself up into a sitting position against the pillows, yawning and pushing hair out of her eyes. Then she stretched her arms up and out and reached for Gilligan's hand. "Have you finished the crib already?"

Gilligan threaded his fingers through hers and squeezed gently. "No," he said, blushing.

"Oh. Well, did you want something?"

"No," Gilligan said again, shaking his head. "We just came in for a break, because Jonas was being naughty. He took the hacksaw and cut a branch off a tree."

"Looks like he's following in his father's footsteps," Mary Ann said. "So what were you doing? Just sitting there watching me sleep?"

"Yeah," Gilligan admitted. "Sorry."

"Oh, don't be sorry, Gilligan." Mary Ann squeezed his fingers affectionately. "It's nice to think someone watches over me while I sleep."

"You looked like you were dreaming," Gilligan smiled. "Were you?"

"I was. Would you believe it, I was dreaming about ice cream."

"Really?" Gilligan looked at Jonas, who peered back at him from under the brim of his hat. "Wow, Jonas, we were close. We thought maybe you were dreaming of bananas."

"Actually, I was," said Mary Ann. "I was dreaming of a great big banana split."

"Wow! How'd you like that? I must be a sidekick."

Mary Ann laughed. "I think you mean a psychic," she grinned. "But you make a pretty good sidekick, too. And talking of sidekicks..." she winced as the baby moved inside her. "Ouch. That was a good one."

Gilligan placed Jonas onto the floor and climbed onto the bed next to Mary Ann, putting his hand onto her stomach so that he could feel the movement too. "He was sure moving around a lot while you were asleep."

Mary Ann had finally given up on adding '_or she_' every time Gilligan referred to their baby as a boy. "This baby never stops moving," she agreed. "We might have to put it on a leash once it's out!"

"Mary Ann!" Gilligan said, shocked. "You can't put a baby on a leash!"

"Wanna bet?"

"Mary Ann." Gilligan gave her a look of sulky reproach.

"I was joking, Gilligan. Of course I'm not going to put the baby on a leash." Mary Ann laughed at his doleful expression. "Relax, mister." She wound her arms around his neck and pulled him close for a kiss. "Mmm," she sighed. "What a treat to wake up to."

Gilligan grinned, all thoughts of babies on leashes instantly banished from his mind. "You're in a good mood."

"I am," she agreed.

"Does that mean...?" He left it unsaid, but the look of insinuation in his eyes was more than obvious.

Mary Ann sank further into the pillows, pulling him with her. He settled over her, mindful not to put any weight on her bump. "Does it mean what?" she teased.

Gilligan rubbed his nose gently against hers. "Does it mean...you want to play Horsey?" he murmured, feeling his ears beginning to burn and knowing full well he was blushing.

Mary Ann giggled. "Why, Gilligan? Do you want to be my bucking bronco?"

Gilligan's eyes widened. His blush intensified. "Boy. I sure did marry a naughty girl!" he said, and then kissed her before she had a chance to reply with something even naughtier.

Midway through the kiss, just as it was becoming more heated and passionate, and just as Gilligan realised that his luck was _definitely_ in and there was a very good chance that they were going to get to play Horsey, they were jolted back to earth by a series of ear-splitting crashes from outside.

"Gilligan! What's going on?" cried Mary Ann, frantically pushing him away.

"Oh no!" said Gilligan. "_Jonas!_" He scrambled off Mary Ann, leapt off the bed and bolted outside- rather awkwardly, given his state of arousal- to his work area at the back of the hut. There he discovered that Jonas had emptied the entire contents of the toolbox onto the ground and was jumping up and down, happily flinging all of the tools into the bushes. "No, Jonas, _no!_ Bad Jonas! All of daddy's tools!" Gilligan stood there in despair, his hands on his head. His hat was gone, too. Up in a tree somewhere, he guessed.

His state of arousal began to dissipate fast. He sighed dramatically and dragged both hands down his face, watching in dismay while Jonas carried on throwing tools everywhere. _There goes my best chisel. And the wood planer. And the glue gun. And the bag of drill bits. And the claw hammer. And the pliers. In fact, there goes everything. _

He looked down sadly at the front of his jeans._ And I do mean everything. _

As he stood there shaking his head in defeat, Mary Ann appeared beside him. She wound her arms around his waist and joined him in watching the baby chimp misbehave. "Do we just wait until he runs out of steam?" she asked, watching a screwdriver disappear into the trees.

"I'm not gonna try and stop an armed chimpanzee," Gilligan said, putting his arm around her shoulders. "But I will be telling his mother about this."

Mary Ann sighed, hugging her husband tighter as Jonas picked up the last thing on the floor, which was a hole punch for leather belts, and hurled it skywards. "It's our own fault. We shouldn't have left him unattended. I guess we'll just have to go on a tool hunt once he's gone home."

"Maybe we won't have to," Gilligan said, gently removing Mary Ann's arms from his waist. He went over to the crib he'd been making and lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross legged as he'd been doing earlier. Jonas, having thrown all the tools, came bounding over to join him. But when the little chimp arrived, Gilligan ignored him, folding his arms and turning away.

"No."

Jonas stopped, clearly puzzled at this lack of response. He edged forward and tugged at Gilligan's sleeve.

"No," said Gilligan, firmly.

Jonas tried again. This time Gilligan meant it.

"_No!_"

The little chimp jumped back, startled. He chattered nervously, looked around, saw Mary Ann, and attempted to get Gilligan's attention again. This time Gilligan didn't respond at all, and looked away dismissively.

Jonas backed away, chittering worriedly. He let out a shrill screech and jumped up and down, waving his arms, one last attempt to get Gilligan to look at him. But the first mate held his ground._ I don't even know you. Your behaviour makes me sick._

Mary Ann watched, fascinated, as the little chimp turned around and scurried into the bushes. A few seconds later he reappeared holding the claw hammer. He bounded over to Gilligan and put the hammer down in front of him, chattering loudly.

Gilligan picked up the hammer and put it into the toolbox. He reached out and stroked the baby chimp's head, but refused Jonas' attempts to climb into his lap.

Jonas ran on his knuckles back into the bushes, and this time he returned with Gilligan's chisel. Gilligan put the chisel back into the toolbox and patted the chimp's head again. "Good Jonas," he said.

Encouraged now that the first mate had spoken, Jonas ran off into the bushes and came back with the pliers. He carried on doing this, bringing back tool after tool after tool until eventually he'd returned everything that he'd thrown away, including Gilligan's hat, which was the last thing he brought back and which he replaced with loving care onto Gilligan's head, chittering softly with remorse as he did so.

When Gilligan was happy that everything had been returned, he reached out and pulled Jonas bodily into his lap, tickling the delighted baby chimp until the little animal was exhausted. "Good boy, Jonas! Good boy, Jonas!" he laughed. "You brought all daddy's tools back. I think that deserves a banana!"

At the word 'banana', Jonas leapt up and spun in crazy circles, his long arms propelling him around and around and around.

"Goodness!" laughed Mary Ann. "Doesn't he ever stop?"

"He's hungry," Gilligan said, getting to his feet and holding out his arms. "We should feed him."

Jonas leapt into Gilligan's arms and wound his arms lovingly around the first mate's neck.

"They need constant reassurance," Gilligan grinned. "Guess they're not so different from us, huh?"

Mary Ann smiled. "You handled that very well," she said, impressed. "If you hadn't become a sailor, you could easily have become an animal trainer or a zoo keeper."

"It's just a matter of talking to them the right way," Gilligan said, modestly. "They all have...what's that word? When they know their place."

"Hierarchy?" said Mary Ann.

"Yeah. Higher arky. You get the ones in charge and the...the...what's that other word?"

"Subordinates?"

"Yeah. Sub-board-and-eights. Kinda like how it was in the Navy. Someone's always in charge and you don't mess with 'em, or there's trouble. It's the same with these guys. Sometimes it looks mean, the way they treat each other, but if they don't, then the little guys never learn to behave themselves. So now, because he behaved himself and he brought back all my tools, Jonas gets a banana. Right, Jonas? And you gotta reward them right away, before they forget. Otherwise they don't make the connection. So, let's go find a banana, hey, Jonas?"

Mary Ann followed her husband back to the hut, where he carried Jonas over to the fruit bowl and let the chimp pick the biggest, ripest looking banana. Then he set Jonas down on the table to let him eat it, grinning as Jonas peeled the skin away with his hands just like a human would.

"Well, I think we know who's going to be doing all the disciplining in our family," Mary Ann laughed, once more nestling into Gilligan's side.

"Ohhhh no, Mary Ann. I can do it with chimps, but I don't think I'll be able to ignore a real baby if it looks at me all sad and stuff."

"Especially if it looks like you do, when you look all sad and stuff," Mary Ann smiled.

They watched Jonas stuff handfuls of banana into his mouth and sit there blissfully chewing.

"It's not going to be anything like this," Gilligan said, holding Mary Ann and resting his cheek on the top of her head. "When our baby's as old as Jonas he'll still be lying in his crib."

"If his crib ever gets made," Mary Ann teased.

Gilligan sighed and gave her shoulders a playful squeeze. "Yes, dear. If his crib ever gets made."

# # # #

The mother chimp arrived at precisely four thirty pm to collect Jonas. Gilligan decided not to tell her about her son's misdemeanours, figuring the little chimp had learned his lesson and didn't need further punishment. He thought also that the mother chimp seemed happy and relaxed and he didn't want to ruin her nice day off by embarrassing her. So he hoisted baby Jonas- who was by now almost asleep- onto her back and stood waving goodbye as she wandered off into the jungle. He was always sad to see Jonas go home, but happy that he had such a loving mother to look after him.

He returned to the hut, sighing as he realised that he had maybe two hours left of sunlight to work on the crib before it got dark and they went down to the main campsite for dinner. But when he got back to the hut and went inside, he was surprised to see Mary Ann laid out on the bed, reclining against the pillows with her hair all loose and fluffy and tumbling over her shoulders the way he liked it.

She was also wearing nothing but the babydoll nightie she had worn on their wedding night.

Remembering their wedding night never failed to get a reaction. Gilligan stood there, blinking and staring, his knees going weak and shaky. "Mary Ann..." he stammered. "What about the crib?"

A slow, sultry smile played over Mary Ann's lips. "Don't worry about the crib right now," she said, batting her eyelashes and running one hand slowly down her thigh. "I believe you and I have unfinished business."

"But...but..." Gilligan swallowed, all thoughts of working on the crib disappearing in an instant.

Mary Ann laughed seductively. She crooked her finger, beckoning him over. "Well, don't just stand there, cowboy. C'mon over and saddle up!"

# # # #

At dinner that night, as the castaways ate and laughed and joked and swapped stories about their day, (Skipper had beaten Mr. Howell at golf, but Mr. Howell was having none of it), Gilligan stared dreamily at his plate of half eaten food and found he couldn't stop smiling.

"Hey, little buddy, you look like you dropped a nickel and found a dime! What's with the big cheesy grin?" said Skipper, nudging the first mate's shoulder.

"Oh, nothing," Gilligan replied, fully aware that he was smirking, and now he was blushing, too.

Overhearing their exchange, Mary Ann leaned against her husband and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "He's just being his usual wonderful self," she laughed.

The Skipper raised both eyebrows. "Do tell," he chuckled.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly," Mary Ann said, coyly. "Just take my word for it."

"Mary _Annnn_," Gilligan said, squirming. But he was secretly thrilled because he knew that he'd made her happy.

"Well!" the Skipper chortled. "I'd say that with the two of you sitting there like the cat that got the cream, I can just about _guess_ why you're so pleased with yourselves." He leaned forward and gave the biggest theatrical wink he could manage, causing Gilligan to squirm and blush and grin even more.

"Can we change the subject?" the first mate protested. He pushed a chunk of pineapple around his plate and tried not to think of Mary Ann as she'd been earlier. There was a time and a place for everything, and the dinner table was definitely not the place for images of that nature. Not unless he _wanted_ to sit there squirming awkwardly and blushing for the entire meal, which seemed very likely, the way his mind was working at the moment.

_Ride 'em, cowboy..._

"Gilligan's building a crib for the baby," Mary Ann said, proudly.

"That poor baby," said Ginger. "I've seen the things that Gilligan builds."

"I built the bath tub," Gilligan said, leaning forward around Mary Ann to stare down the movie star. "And that works fine."

"It works fine now, once you patched up all the leaks."

"The crib doesn't need to hold water, Ginger. So it doesn't matter if the crib leaks." With that, Gilligan stuck his tongue right out at her, and laughed at her when she scowled fiercely and stuck her tongue back out at him.

"You're so childish, Gilligan."

"Takes one to know one, Ginger."

"Skipper!" said Ginger, pouting. "Tell him to stop it!"

"Stop it," the Skipper grinned, "or I'll build a giant crib big enough to put _both _of you in it!"

"Oh, it'll be a beautiful crib, Skipper," Mary Ann said, smiling. "That is, if Gilligan _ever _gets around to finishing it." She pressed up against Gilligan and slipped her hand beneath the table and onto his thigh. "Isn't that right...dear?"

"Yes, dear," Gilligan smirked.

"I mean, we want it to look nice, don't we? We don't want it to look like it was built by a bunch of _cowboys_." She squeezed his thigh and at the same time looked at him all wide eyed and innocently.

"No, dear," Gilligan replied and finally lost it, dissolving into a fit of helpless giggles.


	16. Something Beautiful

_Chapter 16 is dedicated to everyone who has stayed with this story so far, with love._

# # # #

It was late November and Mary Ann was in her final weeks of pregnancy, being convinced that she had conceived when they'd made love on the cliff top at the beginning of March. Her distended belly swelled like a ripe peach and her engorged breasts which occasionally leaked milk felt like cow's udders resting on the top of it. She was constantly having to use the bathroom as the baby pushed down on her tenderised bladder. She felt like an elephant and wondered what on earth Gilligan still saw in her, but it was incredible the way he still wanted her. And while their sex life had finally calmed down into simple, gentle kissing and caressing, her devoted husband carried on reassuring her that she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen, that she was still completely desirable and that her pregnancy made him feel like the strongest and most virile man on the planet. Of course he hadn't actually used the word virile, he'd babbled something like _I still can't believe I made a baby!_ But the message was clear. If she weren't so sure that 'doing it' would cause her to give birth right there and then in the middle of the bed, Gilligan would have been on her in an instant.

It always made her smile to think of how much Gilligan had changed since the day the Skipper married them all the way back in January. From their first tentative kiss- okay, maybe it wasn't their actual first kiss, they'd already kissed a couple of times, albeit a little clumsily, before he'd finally proposed to her on New Year's Eve- to the embarrassed awkwardness of their wedding night and eventual clumsy consummation, Gilligan's enthusiasm for 'getting physical' was nothing short of miraculous.

Willie Gilligan, the shy, frightened fawn who once couldn't even look at Ginger without squirming and going beet red, was now a fully paid up member of ( to put it crudely the way Skipper did ) 'the Bedroom Olympics team.'

And Mary Ann Gilligan, nee Summers, thoroughly enjoyed every minute of their 'training sessions'.

It was out of the question now, though. She was fat and sore, swollen and tired and aching, and as they lay in bed one night as the days ticked slowly over into December, Mary Ann pulled Gilligan's arms around her swollen belly and let out a deep and mournful sigh.

"I just want to have this baby, Gilligan. It's been inside me long enough. All it does is squirm around and make me wet myself every five minutes."

"Nice," Gilligan murmured, trying not to laugh. He was looking over the smooth curve of her shoulder at the beautiful crib he'd built, which now stood like a centrepiece in the middle of the room, proudly awaiting its new occupant.

'Gilligan's Crib', as the castaways called it (due to the length of time he'd spent building it ), was a magnificent thing. It had ended up being just as big as Gilligan's bathtub, except that its sides were made of bamboo bars instead of solid wood panels so that they'd be able to see the baby as it lay sleeping. And instead of legs as Gilligan had first planned, the Professor had helped him construct a pair of sturdy bamboo rockers so that they could gently rock their baby to sleep.

Mary Ann and Ginger had then spent an afternoon decorating the outside of the crib with pretty shells and flower motifs and starfishes and ribbons and little coloured stones.

_Nothing that the baby can pull off and put in its mouth, _said Gilligan, as he'd hovered over them like an overzealous foreman.

_We know that, Gilligan! _Mary Ann had told him. _Stop getting in our way!_

But he'd hovered and hovered until finally Ginger chased him off by threatening to kiss him if he didn't stop talking, winking at Mary Ann to assure her she was joking, and laughing as Gilligan promptly ran off in a cloud of dust, holding firmly onto his hat as he vanished into the trees.

_It's nice to know I'm still an attractive woman,_ she said, with a shake of her flame red tresses.

_What's he going to be like when the baby finally arrives?_ Mary Ann had sighed. _He'll be trying to tell me how to breast feed!_

In the meantime, Mrs. Howell had surprised them with a wonderful baby mobile she had made herself out of three coconut half shells attached to rigid wires with coloured stones and shells and starfish hanging from them by various ribbons and other assorted lengths of coloured threads. She had been utterly delighted by their joyful reaction to her humble offering. Gilligan had attached it to the head of the crib right away while Mrs. Howell stood watching with her her hands clasped together under her chin, eventually having to wipe a little tear from the corner of her eye when nobody was looking.

The mobile was now rotating slowly in the night breeze that drifted in through the open window, its little shells clinking musically together while the coloured ribbons twirled and fluttered.

"I mean it, Gilligan," Mary Ann grumbled. "I need to have this baby. Now. You try walking around with a bowling ball inside your stomach for nine months. Or at least four months. It's no picnic."

"I had one attached to my hand, remember?"

"It didn't make you wet yourself, though. Did it."

Gilligan laughed softly into her hair, warming the back of her neck with his breath. "Wanna bet?"

Mary Ann laughed too. "You've gotten into some scrapes over the years, Gilligan, I have to say," she sighed, running her fingertips over his forearm.

"Yeah. But this is the best one yet. Being married and waiting for our baby."

"I know. I just wish it would hurry up and happen." Mary Ann nestled into him, wincing as a familiar dull ache spread through her lower abdomen and the baby squirmed again. "It can't be long now, can it, Gilligan? It's been nine months already. I can feel it turning around inside me. These aches and pains are there all the time now. The baby's so big there's no more room for it. It's got to come out soon. It's just got to!"

"It'll happen soon, Mary Ann. Don't worry. The Professor says everything's okay. Another week or even just a few days, and we'll have our baby. You'll see." He kissed the back of her neck, nibbling gently on her skin.

"Gilligan," she began, then trailed off into a sigh as his lips drifted across her shoulder.

"Hmm?" he smiled, darting the tip of his tongue out to taste the slight saltiness of her skin.

"Nothing. Just..." she sighed again, closing her eyes rapturously as he began dusting butterfly kisses across her shoulder blade, "...just don't get _too _excited, will you?"

He smiled again, giggling to himself. "I'll try. Although, remember what the Professor said." He nuzzled her just under her ear. "We can always bring it on by doing _you know what_."

"You dare," Mary Ann laughed, amazed at his audacity, "and I'll pull it off."

# # # #

"Names, Gilligan. We still need names."

Mary Ann was soaking in a warm bath while Gilligan knelt beside the tub and washed her with a soft sponge, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The soapy water sloshed around her baby bump, soothing the ache that hit her now and again like a bad period cramp. She sighed with relief as the water caressed her back, seeping into her aching muscles. Coupled with Gilligan's slow, gentle ministrations as he ran the sponge lightly over her shoulders and arms, it was all Mary Ann could do not to drift off into a deep and dreamless sleep.

"I thought we were going to wait and see what name the baby looked like," Gilligan murmured, squeezing warm water from the sponge onto the back of her neck.

"We are, but we still need some names to choose from." She smiled, tipping her head to one side as the water coursed over her skin. "Mmm. That's nice."

"I don't know, Mary Ann," Gilligan said, loading the sponge with more water. "We should just wait. Everyone's got a million different ideas."

"It's not up to everyone, Gilligan. It's up to us," Mary Ann sighed as he squeezed water over her again. "And I am definitely not calling our baby Thurston Junior."

"How about Skipper Junior?"

"_Or _Skipper Junior."

"Professor Junior? He is gonna be helping us, after all."

"Not even Professor Junior. Although we could have Roy as a middle name. But then we'd have to include Mr. Howell and the Skipper too." Mary Ann sighed. "Maybe it'll be a girl, and then we won't have to worry!"

"Except then we'd have to call her Ginger," Gilligan smiled, moving the soapy sponge gently over her swollen breasts. "Or Lovey." he giggled.

Mary Ann laughed too, then all of a sudden she stiffened. Her hand shot up out of the water and clamped tightly onto Gilligan's arm. "Gilligan..." she muttered, her eyes wide.

"What? _What?_" Gilligan froze, then flew into a startled panic. "Mary Ann, is it the baby? Is it coming? Mary Ann, _is it coming?_"

Mary Ann squeezed his arm, breathing in small, hurried gasps. Then she slumped back into the water, shaking her head slowly from side to side. "No, that wasn't it," she said, looking somewhat dazed. "False alarm, Gilligan. I'm sorry."

"_You're_ sorry," Gilligan murmured. He fell back onto his butt, blinking his eyes into focus, his heart pounding like a jack hammer in his chest.

Mary Ann sat lower in the sloshing water, her back arched and her hands spread over her distended belly. "Oh, Gilligan, I think it's close," she said, gazing up at him with her eyes wide. "That's the first real contraction I've had."

Gilligan stared at her, dumbstruck, not realising that he was clutching the sponge tightly in both hands and squeezing water all over his shirt and down the front of his jeans.

Mary Ann laughed, watching him over the side of the bath. "And Gilligan? I think it's _my _waters that are supposed to break, not yours!"

# # # #

"So, Mary Ann, you've started having contractions," said the Professor, who had come up to their hut with his medical kit when Gilligan had gone running into camp, waving his arms like a mad thing and shouting _she's having contraptions! She's having contraptions!_

"Yes," Mary Ann nodded. "I was having these other pains for a while, but now I think these are the real ones. This time the baby might really be coming."

Gilligan was pacing around the room, biting his fingernails to shreds. The Skipper and Mr. Howell had brought the bamboo car up to the top of the path in case Mary Ann needed to be transported in a hurry and were hovering outside the hut, anxious for news. Meanwhile, Mrs. Howell and Ginger stayed back at the huts, getting the makeshift sickbay ready with lots of towels and bowls ready for filling with hot water. Mrs. Howell was also filling the room with freshly cut flowers. _Something else to look at besides blood and gore, _she said, brightly.

Mary Ann was lying with her upper body propped up by pillows while the Professor sat on the chair next to the bed, when she suddenly had another contraction, a stronger one this time.

"Oh! Oh! OH!" she panted, going rigid as the contraction coursed through her, reaching blindly for the Professor's arm and digging her nails into his flesh.

"Deep breaths, Mary Ann, deep breaths," the Professor said calmly, ignoring the fact that she was clawing his arm to pieces, while Gilligan clamped both sets of fingers into his mouth and bit down hard, muffling his own yelp of pain.

"Oh, Professor! The baby, it's coming!"

"Not yet, Mary Ann. Just breathe. Just breathe.

"_You_ breathe, dammit!" Mary Ann gasped. "_You_ see how easy it is with..." she stopped suddenly, relaxing as the contraction passed. "Oh...that's better."

The Professor was looking at Gilligan, his eyebrows raised.

"She didn't mean it," said Gilligan. "She gets a little upset."

"Shut up, Gilligan," said Mary Ann, causing the first mate to clamp his mouth shut with an audible click of his teeth.

The Professor smiled sympathetically. "Mary Ann, would you like some painkillers?" he asked.

"Only if I can sit on them," she replied.

The Professor sighed and stood up. "Mary Ann, I think you'd better come down to the huts. I don't want to wait until it's too late and your waters are breaking at three in the morning. You can stay in the sick bay from now until the baby comes. I think it will be best for both of you."

Gilligan nodded eagerly as though his head were on a spring. "Yes, please, Professor. I think that would be a good idea."

"Just take this baby out of me," Mary Ann pleaded. "I just want this ordeal to be over!"

# # # #

So Gilligan and Mary Ann packed a bag and went down to the huts where Mary Ann continued to have contractions all afternoon. Mrs. Howell and Ginger brought her cup after cup of herbal tea and wiped her brow with a damp cloth. She was restless. She walked up and down outside the huts, clutching her stomach, hoping to induce the birth that way. She sat down on a nearby sun lounger and let Gilligan massage her belly. (She wouldn't entertain any other notions, and he knew better than to even joke about it.) He tended to her as well as he could, and he barely left her side, cuddling her and stroking her and whispering into her ear while the rest of the castaways stood around feeling tense, nervous, excited and utterly helpless to do anything but wait.

"Gilligan," Mary Ann uttered, leaning against him with her hands balled into fists against his chest. "Just squeeze this baby out of me. Please! I can't stand it!"

"It's okay, Mary Ann. It's okay," Gilligan said, rocking her gently.

"It's not okay! It hurts!"

Gilligan stared up in desperation at the Skipper, who shrugged helplessly. He looked at Mr. Howell, who for once was lost for words. He looked at Mrs. Howell, fanning herself rapidly and leaning on her husband for support. Even the Professor looked slightly paler than normal. Everyone looked as helpless as each other.

Everyone except for Ginger, who came striding briskly across the clearing, statuesque and resplendent in her crisp, white Nurse's uniform, which she'd had freshly laundered and ready to be donned for this momentous occasion.

"Mary Ann," the movie star said, stopping in front of Mary Ann and Gilligan with her hands planted firmly on her hips.

Gilligan realised with a shock that he was staring at her with his mouth open, and he didn't know whether it was because she was wearing a nurse's uniform, or whether it was because she was the only one of them who was taking charge right now. Either way, he was glad she'd showed up, because no-one else seemed to know what to do, and right now she appeared to be their only beacon of hope.

Ginger leaned down, reached out and tilted Mary Ann's face towards her. "Listen to me, Mary Ann. Everything is going to be all right. And if Ginger Grant says everything is going to be all right, then you'd better believe that everything is going to be all right!"

Mary Ann smiled up at her friend through her pain. "Thank you, Ginger. I trust you, I do."

"Good girl," Ginger smiled, warmly. Then, still leaning down, she turned and fixed her mischievous gaze on Gilligan, who swallowed hard as she moved her slender fingers under his chin and cupped his jaw in her palm. "And Gilligan?" she smiled, as though about to give him a pep talk as well. "Close your mouth, there's a good boy." With that, she pushed his jaw up with the tips of her fingers and snapped his mouth shut.

With a musical laugh, the movie star sashayed to the sick bay in preparation for her latest role as Ginger Grant, Midwife, while Gilligan was left shaking his head, embarrassed at being caught out by her, even after all this time.

"I hope she knows what she's doing," Mary Ann murmured.

"Oh, I think she does," said Gilligan, straightening the hat on his head.

# # # #

At 6.30pm, when Mary Ann's contractions had neither improved nor worsened and the castaways had begun drifting away from the sick bay and thinking about dinner, there was a sudden blood curdling yell from both Gilligan and Mary Ann simultaneously. Everyone immediately ran back to the sickbay, all talking at once.

Mary Ann was hunched over with a pool of liquid at her feet. Her legs were wet with the same fluid. "My waters have gone," she moaned. "The baby's coming, NOW!"

The Professor took over immediately. "Come on, Gilligan. Let's get her into the hut and onto the bed, pronto."

Gilligan bent and hooked his arms around Mary Ann's torso and her soaking legs. With a grunt he attempted to lift her off the ground, feeling his knees buckle.

"Gilligan!" she cried, "be careful!"

"I've got you, Mary Ann, don't worry," he huffed.

The Skipper appeared at once. "Little buddy, would you like me to...?" he began, but Gilligan cut him off before he could finish.

"No, Skipper, I'm good. I carried Mary Ann over the threshold when we were married, I'm gonna carry her over the threshold so she can have our baby."

With that, he straightened his legs and his back and hoisted Mary Ann up into the air, staggering only slightly, his arms locked tight around her so that he wouldn't accidentally let go. He took a deep breath to steady himself and marched her into the sick bay where he set her gently down on the bed.

"There you are, Mary Ann," he smiled, brushing a long strand of hair away from her face and trying not to look out of breath.

"My hero," said Mary Ann, then immediately screwed her face up and screamed as another pain coursed through her, clawing at his shirt front like a thing possessed. "Ohhhhh! Gilligan! You did this to me!" she yelled, pounding on his chest with her fist. "You...you..._man_, you!"

# # # #

Gilligan paced up and down, up and down, up and down outside the hut while Mary Ann screamed blue murder inside. Every now and again, Nurse Ginger, as she'd insisted on being called, came outside to tell them everything was all right, but the smears of red across the front of her uniform made Gilligan cry out in panic and think his wife was being slaughtered.

"What are they doing to her, Skipper?" he wailed, clutching the Skipper's arm. "Why the blood?"

"Gilligan, she's having a baby! That's why the blood. It's coming out of her body, not appearing in a little puff of smoke like a magic fairy."

"Oh, Skipper!" Gilligan let out a plaintive moan. "I _knew _it! I _knew_ it was too small! I _knew_ it. I told her. No baby's gonna come out of there. It's just too small for a baby. It's only just about big enough for..."

"Gilligan!" the Skipper yelled, losing his patience at last.

"Yeah," Gilligan nodded. "you got it. It's only just about big enough for Gilligan." As he stood there staring in dismay towards the sick bay door, he realised the Skipper had just smacked him with his cap.

"_Every_ chance you get," the Skipper muttered.

The Howells were equally upset and nervous. Mrs. Howell was almost in tears. "Oh, Thurston, that poor girl, she needs to be in a proper hospital, with gas, and air, and..."

"And a decent coffee machine," Mr. Howell finished, rubbing his throat up and down.

Another gut wrenching scream came hurtling out of the sick bay, followed by an expletive that had everyone staring at each other with eyebrows raised.

"Where did she learn _that _one?" asked the Skipper, his eyes bulging.

"Maybe I talk in my sleep," Gilligan suggested.

The Skipper did a double take. "Where did _you _learn that one?" he gasped.

"From Mr. Oppenheimer, Florence Oppenheimer's father. When he found out Florence was seeing Skinny Mulligan, he stood outside and yelled it at Mr. Mulligan from the driveway. The whole street heard, I think. Everyone went around saying it for weeks."

While the Skipper stood with his face in his hands and shaking his head, Ginger appeared almost immediately, smiling and giving everyone the thumbs up before disappearing back inside again.

"Well, _I've _never heard such dreadful language," Mrs. Howell said, pretending to be scandalized.

"I have," Mr. Howell said. "From your mother, the day we got married!" He laughed heartily, while Mrs. Howell whacked his arm with her fan.

"That isn't funny, Thurston."

Mary Ann's screams got louder and louder.

"I'm going in there," said Gilligan, launching himself forward and immediately springing back as he realised the Skipper was still holding onto his wrist.

"Oh, no you don't, Gilligan. You'll only make things worse!"

Gilligan struggled to get his hand free. "Let go, Skipper! I'm going in there!"

Everyone fell speechless and stood stock still as the loudest, ear piercing shriek cut through the air like a finely honed blade.

"Skipper, _please!_ I wanna go _in_ there!" Gilligan started yanking on his arm like a trapped animal, Mary Ann's amniotic fluids now drying into a dark stain along his sleeve. Seeing the stain, the Skipper sighed and let go at last, knowing that all Gilligan wanted was to be by his wife's side.

And dammit, that was where he was entitled to be.

"All right, Gilligan, but _don't get in the way!_" he called, having to raise his voice as Gilligan was already racing over to the sick bay with his hand on his hat as though shot from a catapult.

Gilligan reached the door and yanked it open as another loud cry of anguish ripped through the air. He blinked rapidly, trying to force his eyes to readjust to the relative gloom of the hut's interior after the bright glare of the sunshine outside. "Mary Ann? Mary Ann, it's me! Gilligan!"

"Gilligan!" said Nurse Ginger. "There you are! Come over here, quickly!"

Gilligan, still blinking, realised that his vision still appeared to be out of focus, with Ginger looking slightly hazy off to one side, and the Professor not much more than a blue and beige shape hunched over at the foot of the bed.

But then he realised that the centre of his field of vision was the sharpest it had ever been, and right there in the middle was Mary Ann, lying on the rumpled bed, her reddened face shining with sweat, her hair stuck to her cheeks and plastered to her neck, her legs wide open and smeared with blood. And she was panting and gasping, but at least she had stopped screaming.

And then he noticed there was another noise in place of the screaming. A strange noise, like a rusty door hinge squealing or a cat yowling like the ones that used to yowl on the roof tiles at night when he lived at home.

He swallowed and blinked, and turned his head so that he was looking directly at the Professor. The Professor was holding something. He was bent over it, making a weird noise himself, like a big pigeon cooing.

"Come on, Gilligan, don't just stand there," said Mary Ann.

"Mary Ann?" he whispered. The sound of her voice startled all of his senses back into focus like the snapping of a whip, and suddenly he could see and hear everything clearly.

Ginger, Nurse Ginger, smiling and crying in her bloodstained uniform.

Mary Ann, his beautiful wife, smiling and crying on the bed.

The Professor, also bloodstained, holding something and smiling, but not crying.

Because there was something else doing the crying for him.

Gilligan walked forward slowly, on legs that felt like two weakened twigs about to snap. He couldn't take his eyes off that thing the Professor was holding. _What a weird thing that is,_ he thought._ What a weird colour, all grey and pink and wrinkly, like a big baby mouse, and making the same kind of weird noises._

He reached the smiling Professor and looked down at the little scrap of life cradled in the man's strong and capable arms. _Everyone's bloodstained,_ he thought, vaguely.

"Gilligan, I do believe you're a father," said the Professor, his blue eyes sparkling with relief, and joy, and triumph.

Gilligan looked at Mary Ann, sprawled on the bed with her chest heaving as she recovered from her pain filled ordeal. He was speechless.

"Well? What do you think, Gilligan?" the Professor said, smiling at the first mate's confusion. "What do you think of her?"

"_Her?_" Gilligan whispered. His legs trembled. His hands shook. He tore his eyes away from Mary Ann and stared back down at the baby held so gently in the Professor's arms.

"Yes, Gilligan," the Professor said gently. "Gilligan, I'd like you to meet your new baby daughter."

_My new baby daughter..._

Gilligan felt his arms go out automatically. "Can I hold her?" he asked, his voice sounding smaller and fainter than he'd ever known it.

The Professor lifted the baby and placed it carefully into Gilligan's arms. Gilligan was expecting someone to say _don't drop her!_ Or _be careful, Gilligan!_ But no-one did. They let him take this tiny, fragile scrap of life and hold it against his chest, watching him quietly as he stared down at its little screwed up face, its mop of jet black hair, its tiny eyes shut tight, miniature hands balled into fists, as he listening to the little animal noises coming out of that toothless little hole in the front of its head. Its tiny little mouth with its little pink gums and its little pink tongue.

_Her_ mop of jet black hair. _Her_ tiny little mouth. _Her _little pink gums and tongue. _Her _eyes and balled up fists and little screwed up face. He checked quickly. Yep, definitely a her.

He carried the baby to the bed and stood grinning down at Mary Ann with the keening baby in his arms. "You did it," he said. "you did it, Mary Ann. All by yourself. You did it."

"Well, not completely by myself," Mary Ann smiled, exhausted. "I had the best medical team in the world. They were wonderful." She smiled up at the Professor, and then at Ginger, who had tears streaming down her face. "You're a pair of miracle workers," she said. "I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough."

"You're so welcome, honey," Ginger sobbed. "It was an honour to assist in the b-b-birth of your b-b-b-beautiful baby."

Suddenly they all heard a loud shout from outside.

"Hey! What's going _on _in there? Somebody tell us what's going on! Pleeeease!"

"Oops," said Gilligan. "The Skipper and Mr. and Mrs. Howell. We'd better tell 'em before they explode."

"Go on and show them our daughter, Gilligan," said Mary Ann, lifting her hand to stroke the soft, dark hair on her baby's tiny head. "I trust you."

"I'll be right back," Gilligan promised. "'Cause a baby should really be with its mother."

"A couple more minutes won't hurt," Mary Ann smiled. "I might even be asleep by the time you get back."

Gilligan and the Professor went over to the door together and pulled it open to find that the Skipper and the Howells were all crowded together in a little huddle, clinging to each other for moral support while Mrs. Howell fanned all of them at the same time.

"_Well?_" the Skipper cried impatiently as Gilligan stood silently in the doorway. "What's going on in there, Gilligan?" But just as he was about to start demanding an answer, his eyes finally caught sight of the baby. His mouth gaped open and shut like a big fish as he gasped and lost all powers of speech.

"G...Gilli...Gilliga..._Gilligan!_" the big man stuttered.

"Look what I got," grinned Gilligan.

"Oh, Gilligan!" cried Mrs. Howell. "Oh, how absolutely wonderful! Oh, Thurston, I believe I'm going to faint!"

"Well, don't just stand there, boy," said Mr. Howell, clutching his wife's shoulders as she pretended to swoon. "What _is_ it?"

Gilligan frowned and peered down at his daughter, and then stared incredulously at the flustered millionaire. "Mr. Howell, can't you see what it is? It's a baby!"

"Doop!" cried the Skipper, finding his voice at last. "Gilligan, Mr. Howell means what _is_ it? Is it a boy, or is it a girl?" He spoke slowly, emphasising his word with circling fingers.

"I knew that," Gilligan grinned. "It's a girl."

The Skipper's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "A girl! Everyone, it's a girl!"

"A girl!" cried Mrs. Howell. "Oh, how simply precious! I shall have to buy her some hats!"

"I shall have to start putting money away for her future wedding," said Thurston, earning himself a whack on the arm with his wife's fan.

The Howells and the Skipper surrounded Gilligan and everyone began fussing over the baby while Ginger and Mary Ann smiled at each other inside the hut.

"I'm exhausted," Mary Ann admitted. "And sore. And I just want to sleep. But I also just want to look at our baby forever."

"Here's where the fun really begins," Ginger smiled, gently stroking Mary Ann's hair.

"Gilligan will be such a good father," Mary Ann said. "Look at him already."

"You didn't see the colour of him when he came through that door," Ginger laughed, still a bit nasal from her crying jag. "He looked like he was about to collapse in a dead faint."

"He'll be fine," Mary Ann smiled. "He can change her diapers and rock her to sleep. The only thing he can't do right away is feed her. That's the bit I'm looking forward to. Cracked nipples."

Ginger stroked the hair away from Mary Ann's face. "You'll both be fine. And look- it's just nineteen days until Christmas. What better gift could you have asked for?"

"I couldn't," Mary Ann said, watching the small crowd of castaways at the door. "A New Year proposal, and an almost-Christmas baby."

As though he could feel Mary Ann's eyes on him, Gilligan turned around and smiled happily at her. She thought he had never looked more handsome, more proud, more sure of himself and his place in the world as he did right now, cradling his newborn baby daughter in his arms.

"The Professor said something once." Mary Ann whispered, her heart brimming over with love. "Gilligan doesn't always get things right, but when he does, it's beautiful."


	17. Epilogue

_A/N: And now we have reached the end. Thank you to everyone for reading. And to those who reviewed, whether I was able to reply to you personally or not, your kind words mean everything to me. A nice review is like a warm hug, so thank you very much for the hugs, the words of encouragement and advice. I'm really happy that everyone enjoyed this story! _

_Lulu xx_

_# # # #_

They named her Molly Rebecca.

Gilligan wanted to name his daughter after everyone he'd ever known. He didn't want anyone to be left out. This meant that his child would have a name three miles long, and even so, someone was bound to be forgotten and then be hurt. Mary Ann wanted a simple name that would remind her of home, of the fertile earth where she was brought up, of the simple, uncomplicated life of a country girl. They both wanted something pretty that would suit this new little human, who looked up at them with curious blue eyes of a shade not yet determined, like the fathomless depths of the ocean far beyond the limits where it was safe to swim.

Molly Rebecca just seemed to suit her.

Molly Rebecca Gilligan had fine, dark hair, but lots of it, with a little cowlick right in the nape of her tiny neck which made the hairs spiral clockwise in the soft little hollow. Her eyes were almost luminous, unblinking blue-white orbs with their enigmatic irises fixed firmly on whatever she chose to look at. Mary Ann thought she had Gilligan's eyes, but Gilligan thought she had Mary Ann's eyes. The other castaways opinions were divided.

Molly Rebecca had an expression about her mouth and the set of her chin that was purely Gilligan's. Mary Ann remarked on it often when Gilligan and his daughter stared at each other in exactly the same way. _She's going to have a stubborn streak,_ Mary Ann said to Ginger. _You wait and see. _

With all the worrying and planning and preparation they'd done over the months, Molly Rebecca proved to be an almost perfectly behaved baby. She was calm and passive when happy, and only cried when she was hungry or needed changing. Her cries however, were loud and lusty and the first time Jonas the chimp heard her hungry wails he threw his arms over his head and climbed as high as he could into the nearest tree until Gilligan managed to coax him down with a banana. After that, the chimp's wariness became curiosity and then affection and before long the animal was happy to sit by the crib peering in at the sleeping baby, making soft little chattering noises to himself. The first time Molly Rebecca clasped her tiny hand around one of his hairy fingers he made a gentle _oohing_ noise as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. _That's right, Jonas, she's a baby,_ Gilligan had smiled. _You were once that small, too._ And Gilligan had knelt down on the floor next to Jonas and stroked the chimp's head with one hand and his daughter's with the other. And so Jonas and Molly Rebecca had bonded under the watchful eye of Gilligan, and Mary Ann knew her husband well enough to trust him when he told her everything was all right.

The other castaways doted on the baby. Mrs. Howell waited for them every morning, her arms stretched out towards the tiny bundle the moment Gilligan and Mary Ann appeared, ready to smother Molly Rebecca with Grandma's kisses and hugs. Mary Ann adored the fuss being made of her child and the way Molly Rebecca would smile up at Mrs. Howell and immediately reach for her pearls with her tiny fingers, although Gilligan would wince inwardly at the thought of the valuable necklace snapping and the precious pearls flying everywhere. After all, Molly Rebecca was _his _daughter too.

Ginger became Auntie Ginger straight away, and was even caught calling the baby "Little Ginger" on account of the fact that she had everyone's attention from dawn until dusk, just like a little Hollywood starlet. Gilligan wasn't sure about this new nickname, but Mary Ann thought it was cute. It wasn't long however, before the baby began to be called simply Molly by everyone, except for Mrs. Howell who preferred to call her by her full name of Molly Rebecca, or even "_Molly Rebecca Gilligan!" _if the child did something unexpected or funny such as burp or hiccup, but especially when she went red in the face, which indicated that she was 'doing her business.' At which point Mrs. Howell would immediately hand her back to Gilligan with her most charming smile, and he'd carry her off for a quick diaper change, chuckling all the way.

Gilligan had become adept at quick diaper changes. He kept everything in his duffel bag which he carried with him everywhere. Diapers, safety pins, washcloths, the tub of baby skin cream that the Professor had concocted in his makeshift Science lab. Mary Ann loved to watch Gilligan change their daughter. He wasn't bothered by the mess or the smell. To him it was all beautiful. Molly Rebecca would study her father with her big, watchful eyes, and gurgle happily when she was all cleaned up and the fresh diaper was firmly in place. Then Gilligan would pick her up and hold her aloft over his head and blow razzies on her smooth little stomach and she'd stare at him sternly as though she didn't want to laugh, and he would pull faces at her until finally she would chortle at him and put both hands on his mouth and squash his lips together.

_How do you like that? _Gilligan grinned. _Even my own daughter wants me to shut up._

The Skipper adored his new 'niece', affectionately calling her 'My Littlest Buddy'. As a tiny baby he'd cradle her in his arms and croon to her until she fell asleep, and as she got older he'd walk around with her propped up in the crook of his elbow while he carried on doing his chores with the other arm. He was a big, strong man and Molly Rebecca looked tiny but completely safe as he carried her around like this for hours on end. Until he too recognised 'the face', and then he would hand her quickly back to Gilligan, who always seemed to know exactly when a diaper change was needed and would appear with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a big, knowing grin on his face while the Skipper wrinkled his nose and said s_he's all yours, Little Buddy._

Changing Molly's diapers was something Gilligan did anywhere and everywhere, but feeding Molly was something Mary Ann did in private. Only Gilligan was allowed to be with her when she settled down with her baby at her breast. Gilligan was fascinated by the process and loved to sit close by and watch his daughter suckling. Invariably the baby's wide, unblinking eyes would be fixed firmly on Mary Ann's face while she drank her milk and bonded in the way a child can only bond with its mother. But then Gilligan would reach out to tickle Molly's dark hair with his fingertips and draw her attention away briefly, smiling as the blue eyes flickered towards him before returning to her mother's face.

Molly Rebecca was a hungry baby, and woke several times a night to be fed. Mary Ann would drag herself sleepily to the crib and lift the baby out and then return to the bed to feed her, with Gilligan already wide awake and ready to give his wife all the comfort and support she needed. Sometimes he'd be too awake, and Mary Ann would have to listen to his excited babbling as Molly suckled, smiling and yawning occasionally, already looking forward to the moment when she could return to the land of Nod and resume her blissful slumber.

Mary Ann had not suffered any adverse after effects from giving birth, something that greatly relieved all of the castaways (but especially the Professor) who had all secretly thought that giving birth on an uncharted island without proper medical facilities was a risky business. Apart from being constantly tired and having sore nipples, Mary Ann's weight returned to normal quite quickly and she suffered no further bleeding or any complications at all. However, she didn't feel ready to conceive again for a while, and was too tired in the first few weeks to share any physical intimacy with Gilligan beyond kissing and cuddling. Gilligan understood- he could see how tired she was and he wanted to do anything that would help her and make her days easier. He couldn't feed the baby himself, but he could make sure that Mary Ann wasn't under any pressure to be perfect. If she was too tired to make love, he was happy just to hold her and revel in the simple joys they both felt at being proud new parents.

Molly Rebecca loved her crib. She was asleep almost before she touched the blankets and Mary Ann would rock her gently while the shells and trinkets on the Mrs. Howell's mobile twirled and clinked together. Molly loved to be sung to, and while Gilligan wasn't a particularly tuneful singer, he did his best with some of the Irish ditties he remembered from his childhood, although Mary Ann put a stop to some of the more colourful songs he used to sing with Skinny Mulligan and Fatso Flanagan when they were teenagers. Mary Ann herself would sing some of the lullabies that used to send her off to sleep when she was a baby, and together she and Gilligan would watch as their little girl drifted away to dreamland, her little mouth curled into a tiny, secret smile.

_Forever more I've stepped ashore_

_My sailing days are over, oh_

_Through time and tide and by your side_

_Together we'll grow old._

And so the days passed into weeks, and the weeks became months. Molly Rebecca spent her time being alternately fussed over by doting grandparents, uncles and her beloved Auntie Ginger. The women spent ages making tiny garments for the growing child. Little dresses and skirts and lacy tops, and satin ribbons for the dark, chocolate-brown hair that was already growing in little wisps over her ears.

Gilligan beamed with delight the day Mrs. Howell produced a little white hat, an almost exact replica of his own in miniature, and placed it gently on Molly Rebecca's head. It was a bit big, but they knew she would soon grow into it. They laughed as the baby peered out at them, bemused, from under the brim.

_There._ Lovey Howell smiled. _Now she truly is a little Gilligan._

And as the weeks continued to pass Molly Rebecca did indeed become a little Gilligan. Despite the fact that she had been born on an island miles from anywhere, she grew strong and robust, fed by mother's milk and sunshine and unconditional love. Gilligan took her swimming every day, and they laughed and splashed around without a single care in the world. Molly Rebecca Gilligan had no fear of water or of animals, who all came out to look at this new addition to the fold. Her eyes lightened to a blue that was just a shade darker than Gilligan's, so that while his eyes resembled calm tropical shallows, hers resembled the azure of the sky above. Her beautiful dark hair grew thick and shiny over her ears until she was able to wear pigtails just like her mother, and with the little Gilligan hat on her head she was quite a sight, curled up exhausted after her daily swim in the loving arms of Gramma and Grampa Howell, who loved her more than anything in the world.

One day, while the Skipper was cuddling Molly in one arm, she reached for the cup he was drinking from and pulled it away from his mouth, sending pineapple juice cascading down the front of his shirt. When he fixed her with a look of surprise, she grinned up at him with an expression that was pure Gilligan. The Skipper did a double take, and then his face fell, which made the child gurgle even more. Gilligan himself was standing only a few feet away, and the Skipper looked from child to parent, noticing the identical looks on both of their faces. He sighed deeply, resigned to his fate.

_Like father, like daughter, _he muttered, although his mutterings were good-natured. _Now there's two of them._

The Professor and Ginger grew closer during these days, and in each of their minds sprang the seeds of ideas for the future. Their own future. Ginger couldn't love Mary Ann's baby more if the child had been her own, and the Professor also adored the way Molly Rebecca nestled into his arms and gurgled at his experiments, appearing to listen to every word he said as he explained how everything worked. _Perhaps it's not too farfetched to imagine myself as a proud father one day, _he thought to himself. _And Ginger certainly would make a wonderful mother..._

_# # # #_

Gilligan and Mary Ann sat with Molly Rebecca on the cliff top where their child had been conceived. The ocean pounded ceaselessly on the rocks below, and the clouds scudded merrily overhead, resembling everything from a man eating a sandwich to an elephant with wings. Molly Rebecca sat on the grass with her little doll's hut that was an exact replica of one of the real huts, complete with little castaway dolls that they had all painstakingly whittled and carved out of wood. She gabbled happily to herself as she played, with Jonas the chimp sitting nearby, peeling bark off a tree in his endless quest for bigger and juicier ants to eat.

"I think this might just be one of the happiest days of my life," said Gilligan, his arms around Mary Ann as she sat with her back against his chest.

"Mine too," Mary Ann agreed, smiling as Molly picked up the Mary Ann doll and began chewing on its head. Her teeth were coming through and these days she chewed on anything she could.

"Think we'll ever get rescued?" Gilligan said, inhaling the clean scent of Mary Ann's neck.

"I don't know," Mary Ann shrugged. "Maybe. One day."

"It'd be nice," Gilligan said. "But I don't mind if it doesn't happen for a while. I'd like Molly to grow up here, where it's peaceful and safe. Where we always know who she's with and what she's doing."

"Where she's loved," Mary Ann agreed.

"Yeah. Where she's loved."

Mary Ann sighed, pulling Gilligan's arms tighter around her. "I don't know what the future holds for us, Gilligan. I don't think I'll ever really stop worrying about whether we'll be rescued or not."

Gilligan smiled, watching his daughter pick up each doll in turn and chew on it. "A wise Fortune Cookie once told me, '_don't spend so much time worrying about the future that you don't notice what's happening now_'," he said, kissing the top of Mary Ann's head.

"I suppose you're right," Mary Ann agreed. "But there's one thing I do know. It wouldn't be much of a future if it didn't have you and Molly in it."

"Well, that's one thing you don't have to worry about. Because you and me and Molly are a family, and we'll always have each other."

Molly chose that moment to turn to her parents with a wide, beaming smile showing the two tiny bottom teeth that were breaking through her little pink gum.

"She looks so much like you," Mary Ann said softly.

"I have more teeth than that," said Gilligan.

"You know what I mean," Mary Ann smiled, nudging him in the ribs.

Gilligan chuckled. "I love you, Mary Ann," he said. "And I love Molly Rebecca. And that's one thing you don't ever have to worry about."

"I love you too, Gilligan," Mary Ann replied. "And our beautiful daughter who looks just like you."

Molly scrabbled in the grass for one of the dolls, a solemn look on her face as she searched. Finally she found the one she wanted and held it up for both her parents to see. It was the little Gilligan doll, with its vivid red shirt that made it stand out from all the rest. She waved it in the air, her little face creased with a smile that was just like her father's under the little white hat that she wore.

"Dadd-ee," she gurgled, her blue eyes meeting Gilligan's, who stared back at her with undisguised delight. "Dadd-ee, Dadd-ee, Dadd-_ee!_"

THE END


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